A Thief's Secrets
by FantasyBard
Summary: REVISED AND REUPLOADED! A good thief knows to keep their secrets close. For Brenna Ryan, the biggest secret that she has ever kept is that of her past. However, when an old enemy comes back into her life, she must trust those that she loves more than ever. A continuation of A Thief's Life series. Sherlock/OC.
1. Not Obviously Ordinary

Hello, and welcome to the fourth installment of my Sherlock Holmes series, A Thief's Secrets. I originally posted this under the title of A Thief's Family Secrets. However, I decided that the story needed some major rewriting, and I deleted it. Hopefully, the changes that I have planned will make the story easier to understand and a lot more enjoyable.

The one thing I should say in addition is that this story keeps close to the original screenplay in some places, but there are some sequences which will veer away into my own twisted ideas.

Now, for the obligatory disclaimer and rating.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, either the fabulous BBC series, or the equally amazing books by Doyle. The TV series is owned by the writers, producers and actors. All I am getting out of this is a sense of immense satisfaction, which I really can't take to the bank.

Rating: T for scenes of violence, torture, and sexuality. (Some material rated a light M, but there will be warnings posted for each chapter that contains them)

Now, with all formal business out of the way, let's get this story off to a great start. Enjoy the fourth installment of A Thief's Life.

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**A Thief's Secrets or A Scandal in Belgravia**

**Brenna Ryan had always been good at keeping secrets. It was her life for many years, and the biggest secret has been that of her past. But all secrets are meant to be revealed at some point, and Brenna's past is about to come back to haunt her. **

**A mysterious woman with deep connections to Brenna suddenly reappears in her life. Irene Adler, beautiful, cunning and dangerous, helped Brenna to become all that she is, and now she has information that could mean all the difference in the world to Brenna. But are her motives all they seem to be? Does Irene want to help Brenna or destroy her?**

**As the plots against her unfold, Brenna is faced with conflicting interests and desires from every quarter. She had always been used to keeping secrets, but every secret comes with a price, and it might prove that this price is too high for Brenna to pay with anything less than her life. **

Not Obviously Ordinary:

Brenna Ryan's life had not been ordinary for a long time. A professional thief, con artist and forager, she had lived a life of high adventure stealing paintings, jewels and other precious objects from all over Europe. But, in the process of doing so, she had almost lost everything. After her father's sudden death, she had been utterly shattered and she had been certain that she would never be able to build up her life again from that traumatic event.

However, she had been given a second chance, in the most unexpected way imaginable. She had been arrested by Alice Bennett, Detective Inspector and head of the White Collar unit at Scotland Yard. Alice had offered Brenna a chance to reinvent her life. Set on the task force as a criminal consultant in white collar crime, she was fitted with an anklet that kept track of all her movements. She was free to roam within a two mile radius. If she went outside of it, she would immediately be put back in prison, with no chance of getting out.

To the surprise of Alice, the entirety of the police force and even Brenna herself, she hadn't run. She had stayed on and found that she enjoyed her new life immensely.

And her life had continued to develop in ways that not even she could have anticipated. She had fallen in love. True to form, of course, she had fallen in love with a man who was as far from ordinary as could be imagined.

His name was Sherlock Holmes, genius, the world's only consulting detective, and quite possibly one of the most difficult and impossible personalities that she had ever met. Sherlock could read anyone and anything with a single glance. He helped the police to solve the cases which no one else could, as well as taking on cases himself of the bizarre and unusual variety.

Unfortunately, along with Sherlock's good qualities came an abundance of drawbacks. He was completely ignorant of normal social politeness, was rude, irascible, prone to saying the first thing which came into his head, which was inevitably always of the unflattering variety. He seemed devoid of compassion or any other sort of human emotion. He was also incapable of making attachments with anyone, or so thought nearly everyone who worked at the Yard. And indeed, for many of the officers who had the misfortune of working with him on a regular basis, Sherlock was a closet psychopath who would one day break loose.

It was with this man that Brenna had been developing a romantic relationship for the better part of a year. No one understood it. How could Brenna stand Sherlock? How could she continue to insist on being with him, when it was quite clear that he would only leave her with a broken heart in the end, if not something much worse?

For Brenna, it was quite simple. People said those things of Sherlock because they had only ever seen one side of him. She was one of the privileged few who had been allowed to see the real Sherlock Holmes. She knew that underneath that irritating and seemingly emotionless exterior beat a real living heart which was as capable of feeling as anyone else. She had seen and felt how capable he was of being tender, gentle and loving. He trusted her absolutely, and in return, she did the same for him. Of course, he was still a cold, analytical, high-functioning sociopath, but he was her cold, analytical, high-functioning sociopath, and anyone who attempted to bad mouth Sherlock in her presence quickly learned to keep their opinions on the matter to themselves.

So, Brenna's life was certainly not obviously ordinary, not by the standards of what normal people considered ordinary anyway. However, by her standards, this had been the most normal three years of nearly her entire life. And it was on one particularly normal day, at the end of her shift, Brenna was finishing up some work at the Yard, when Alice came strolling up to her desk. "Getting ready to head out are you?" Alice asked.

"Yes, don't worry, I finished up all my reports, and when I come in tomorrow, I'll be ready to tackle another nefarious case of international smugglers."

"It will most likely be a high-end insurance scam." Said Alice, "You never can tell this time of year."

"No, you really can't. Maybe I'll just let myself be surprised."

Alice peered at her screen and raised her eyebrows. "Catching up on your reading?"

Brenna glanced at her screen. "I'm just keeping up with John's blog. He posted a new case with him and Sherlock this morning."

Alice glanced over the case. It was titled _The Aluminum Crutch_, and had Sherlock solving a murder that had happened live onstage during a murder mystery play. Of course, he had somehow managed to solve it before the police, all in the space of maybe half an hour, based entirely on interviews from the cast and director. He had left John a detailed phone message explaining the "simple" solution, which went on for eleven paragraphs. "They do get into some interesting situations, don't they?" Alice said.

"Oh, yes, and their interactions after them are almost as amusing."

Sherlock had made no secret of the fact tat he distinctly disliked and disapproved of John's blog. He complained constantly that John made every single one of their cases sound like some sort of cheap, romanticized drivel, while ignoring all the scientific aspects of deductive reasoning. However, Brenna found it amusing to observe that despite Sherlock's complaints, he read and commented on almost every entry, up to the point where he could actually quote entire paragraphs from memory for scathing dissection.

She remembered one particularly funny incident in regards to an entry that detailed Sherlock's rare inability to solve a case. There had been a plane crash in Düsseldorf a week before. Everyone onboard had been killed, and it appeared to be the work of terrorists. However, one of the passengers who was supposed to have been on that flight was instead found dead in a car boot in Surrey. Sherlock had not been able to determine why he had ended up there. This had caused no small amount of glee to everyone who heard it. But, it had made Sherlock positively surly.

She had been at 221B at the time, both she and John working opposite each other on their lap tops. Sherlock had been doing one of his random experiments in the kitchen, something involving goggles and a flame torch. He peeked over John's shoulder to get a hint of what he had been typing. Naturally, he had immediate objections. "No, don't mention the unsolved ones."

"People want to know your human." John defended.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, obviously finding that idea difficult to grasp.

"Because they're interested."

"No, they aren't." Sherlock muttered contemptuously, before asking almost as quickly, "Why are they?"

"I can't think of any reason why." Said Brenna, "You're tall, dark, mysterious, sexy; people like that. John's blog makes you exciting to them. That's why they're all reading his bog instead of your website."

Sherlock glared at her, "You don't read my website?"

"Of course, I do. What you have written there, which isn't much of consequence to what you actually do."

Sherlock was about to argue that he had several pieces of useful information on the website, if only people would pay attention to what was really important, when John said, "She's right, Sherlock. I mean, look at this." He gestured to the counter on his blog. "1,895."

"So?"

"I reset that counter last night. This blog has had nearly 2,000 hits in the last eight hours. This is your living, Sherlock, not 240 different types of tobacco ash."

Sherlock drew himself up into his "I am above such things" stance, as Brenna had dubbed his attitude whenever he had been backed into a corner and he didn't want to admit it. "243." He muttered sullenly, before turning on the blow torch and stomping back into the kitchen to continue his experiment.

Brenna found it difficult not to laugh as she watched him go. "I almost regret giving him that blowtorch."

John raised his eyebrows. "You gave him that?"

"Don't ask. It's a long story."

Even the memory of it made her smile faintly now. "I can't wait to see what sort of objections Sherlock will make out of this one."

"I find it interesting that John never mentions you." Said Alice, "Considering your relationship with Sherlock, and the cases which you work so closely together, I'm surprised he hasn't thought to include you."

"I think that Sherlock asked him not to mention me. He thinks that it would attract unwanted attention from certain quarters. Can't say that I blame him, considering some of the enemies I've made. Besides, he's also told me that he believes what Sherlock and I share is too private for others to read. John doesn't exploit people to get attention. He is incapable of doing so."

"And the case with your sister? How come that's not on there?"

"It's still a sensitive case." Brenna said, "John didn't feel like he could describe it without putting my family in danger again. Besides, it also contains information that certain people in the British government might find sensitive."

Brenna was referring to the events of two months before. Her sister Martha's family had found themselves right in the middle of a dangerous web of criminal activity, and had become the targets of ruthless assassins. Martha and her two children, William and Roger, had been kidnapped, while her husband, Nicholas, had been severely injured in a similar attempt. Only Rose, Martha's ten year old daughter had managed to escape, though the things which she had witnessed traumatized her to the point where she had trusted no one but Sherlock and John, who had more or less been saddled with the responsibility of protecting her.

Meanwhile, Brenna, determined not to sit by and let her family suffer another tragedy after her father and herself, had set off on her own, with an unexpected ally at her side. Anthea Jones, the PA to Sherlock's brother Mycroft, was in actuality, his wife and a former assassin to boot. It turned out that she had known who had taken Brenna's sister and children, and the two of them had teamed up to find them before they were killed. In the end, and after much twisting, turning, and a few fist fights (scenes which had struck Brenna as more like a James Bond movie than real life), all of them had managed to succeed.

Martha and her children had been rescued and were reunited with Rose and Nicholas. The end result was that William and Roger wanted to be just like John when they grew up (William, a doctor and Roger, a blogger), while Rose had already determined that she was going to be a consulting detective. Sherlock, despite some initial eye-rolling, was actually starting to send her tips about how to deduce (truth was, he had become rather fond of her while she was in his care. Of course, he would never have admitted such a thing).

The incident had been traumatic, but it had also gone a long way towards repairing Brenna's relationship with Martha. After saving her life, Martha had decided to completely forgive all of Brenna's former transgressions, and she was now firmly on her side.

Alice nodded, as Brenna was brought out of her thoughts. "Perhaps for the best. When are you going to be hearing Sherlock's side of the story on this latest case?"

"I'll be seeing him tonight." Said Brenna, "I can be sure that I will hear a mouthful."

"Is that all you're going to be doing? I can't think that an evening of listening to Sherlock complain can be all that romantic?"

"Would any evening with Sherlock be romantic in the conventional sense?" Brenna, knowing that if she stopped her answer there, Alice would only start to ask more questions, chose her next words carefully. "Actually, Sherlock asked me for help on a case."

"Oh, which one?"

"It's still in the development stages. There's a code he feels could be the key to cracking it, so he brought it to me. His client wanted to keep it hush-hush. I don't even know who it is that he's working for."

"Well, have fun. I look forward to reading about it in John's blog. I'll see you tomorrow."

Brenna nodded non-committely in farewell, and to avoid answering her statement directly. She couldn't tell Alice that this case she was working on with Sherlock would most likely never be in John's blog. This was a secret between her and Sherlock. And she didn't feel entirely guilty about not telling Alice, because Alice had kept the secrets first.

Several weeks ago, she had received a mysterious postcard from Cairo of all places. All it had said, in an old type face was _Wish you were here_. But underneath that message, hidden by the rather cheesy picture of the pyramids, and written in invisible ink had been an even more startling message: _Alive. More details soon._ She recognized the code which the message had been written in. When she had been a little girl, she and her father had often played spy games. They had devised their own code system to make the game even more fun. The hidden message on the postcard was written in the same code, and only her father could have known about it.

That had set her heart racing; she had recently found out that her father's death had been no accident as she had thought for years. However, seeing that message had planted in her mind a suspicion that she hardly dared hope for. If her father was truly alive, who or what was he hiding from, and why?

The answers were still slow in coming. A week after the postcard, another mysterious package had arrived, this time a journal of the type her father had often used in his investigations. This journal was divided into sections, each one in some form of complex code. She was convinced that this journal was the key to finding out what had really happened to her father. She had determined that she would break the code, and had asked for Sherlock's help, because he was the only one that she could trust. She was loath to inform Alice about this. That journal contained the only concrete link that she had to her father. If she gave it up, any chance of learning the truth might vanish.

Brenna could not allow herself to give up. If there was even a minute chance her father might be alive, she had to do everything she could to help him. She had abandoned him once, she was not about to leave him a second time if she could help it.


	2. The Laws of Desire

**WARNING: Scenes of sexual content at the latter end of this chapter. Do not read if that sort of thing doesn't appeal to you**.

The Laws of Desire:

It was a common knowledge amongst the force at Scotland Yard that Sherlock and Brenna were dating. Many were surprised that it had been going for so long, as they simply assumed that Sherlock was incapable of having a stable relationship of any kind. However, it had endured, and the gossip had moved on from when they would break up, to whether or not they could actually make it work if they went to the next level. Just as Sherlock's cluelessness in the matters of relationships confused many, so his attitude to the process of sex was somewhat of a mystery to everyone who knew him.

Neither Brenna nor Sherlock paid any attention to these rumors. Sherlock was more than capable of being attracted sexually to Brenna. However, anything beyond a good snog had not yet happened. Sherlock was not the type of man who readily expressed physical affection of any kind. Indeed, he seemed to be averse to any form of touching. It seemed that whenever anyone did so, he would stiffen for just a few seconds and shy away from the contact, as though he were afraid that something worse would be coming. Naturally, this made him a little leery of the idea of sex.

So, she had waited for Sherlock to come to the place where he would be ready. She had the sense that it would happen soon. However, not even she would have been able to predict just how and when they would take that final step.

It had all started innocently enough. Sherlock had been due to come over that evening so that the two of them could work on the encoded notebook. She had been expecting him to come by way of the front door. Imagine her surprise, when she realized that Sherlock was, in fact, knocking at the back door. When she opened it, he greeted her with his usual warmth. "Took you long enough. I must have stood out here knocking for five minutes."

Brenna stared at Sherlock for about five seconds before she finally stepped aside, saying as he came into the room. "Sherlock, I know that it's illogical to expect to a logical answer from you, but why are you coming in by way of the front door?"

"I wasn't sure if that mob of paparazzi from earlier this evening were still hounding my every footstep. There have been hordes of them crawling around Baker St. trying to get a photo. I managed to elude them. But I wanted to make sure that they didn't trace me, thus coming through the back door."

"Paparazzi?" said Brenna, "Following you? What on earth for?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what they want." Said Sherlock with exasperation. "It's all John's fault. That stupid blog of his has attracted far too much attention."

"Are you just jealous that more people are supposedly reading his blog than visiting your website?"

Sherlock was about to reply when he saw the newspaper on Brenna's counter, and more importantly, the picture that it was turned to. "What are you doing looking at a picture of me in that hat?" Sherlock asked with exasperation, as he pointed to the picture of him in the deerstalker that had been taken outside of the theater where Sherlock had been investigating one of his present cases.

"Oh, the deerstalker. I think it's cute on you."

Sherlock had no answer for this other than an impatient huff. Without anymore ado, he scooped up the newspaper article that had his face plastered on it, crumpled it up into a little ball and unceremoniously threw it into the wastebasket. "Well, you're certainly handling your newfound fame in a mature manner." Said Brenna, making no attempt to hide her smile.

"Did you ask me here tonight to help you crack a code which could potentially find your father or to make inane remarks about my personal appearance?" Sherlock asked.

"If I said both, would you leave?"

"Of course, I would. I would have the perfect excuse that I believed you capable of greater taste."

Brenna rolled her eyes. "Fine, be that way. You want to help me crack a code, let's do that."

For the next hour, the evening proceeded very much as any other normal evening spent with Sherlock would. They had been getting nowhere with the notebook, despite working on it for several weeks now. They were both quite proficient in the area of codes and ciphers, but in this instance, it seemed as though Oliver Ryan had managed to best them.

"I am beginning to see where you got your talent for hiding and covering up things." Sherlock remarked, at one point. "If this is even an ounce of his skill, it's no wonder that he hasn't been found in three years."

"Yes, but I almost wish he were less good at this."

Sherlock looked up from the page he had been staring at in the journal, to where Brenna was sitting with her computer, researching yet another method to break the code. Her face seemed distant and troubled. "You are angry with your father for this deception." He stated.

Brenna shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I am a little angry. But I'm almost confused and frustrated. Sherlock, I don't know with absolute certainty that my father is even alive. In some ways, I almost preferred thinking that he was dead. At least, that was something solid that I could hold onto. Now, I don't know whether he's alive or dead, and I don't have any explanation for either option."

It continually amazed Sherlock how seriously Brenna took her family connections. Considering all their prior history, it would have been no surprise to him if she didn't care what happened to any of them. But as the case with her sister a few months before had proven, that not only was Brenna trying everything she could to make things right, she would also willingly risk her life to make sure that any member of her family was safe. For Sherlock, in all his familial connections save one, he had never encountered such selfless sacrifice. Not with Mycroft and certainly not with his father. His mother was the only one who he could claim to have any real emotional attachment to.

He really didn't feel that he could offer any real comfort to Brenna, especially since he didn't have any idea what this code was trying to tell him. It was a most frustrating venture. He was beginning to feel that the answer was staring both of them in the face, but they just couldn't see it.

Finally, though, over an hour later, they had a breakthrough at almost exactly the same moment. "Sherlock, I think I have it." Said Brenna, the excitement in her voice evident.

"Yes, I know. I'm also seeing it. It's a Playfair Cipher."

However, Brenna said at almost the exact same moment, "It's Autokey."

The two of them looked at each other, when it became clear to them that they had both said two different things. Sherlock frowned and looked down at the page which he had been studying. "It's Playfair. I'm certain of it, I would recognize that pattern anywhere." He looked back up at Brenna, "Unless your father used different codes throughout the journal."

"That would make sense. My dad was absolutely obsessed with codes. He could write things in code as easily as he could in English."

"That's why we haven't been able to break this journal using just one code." Said Sherlock, "It's because there's more than one."

"I think we may have just solved the first mystery that my dad wanted us to find. That's why the pages are all numbered. Let's focus on one thing at a time. My page is from an earlier part of the journal. Let's decode that first."

Now that they knew what they looking for, they were able to quickly decode the first message that was on the page. It read simply:

_Brenna, I know that you have questions. I know that you are also wondering why I had to leave you and the rest of the family. But, I can't stay silent any longer. I need you to know that I am alive. I can't blame you if you are angry, but know that everything that I did, and everything which I am doing right now, was all to protect you. But now I need your help. I am sending you this journal. It contains notes and observations which could be incredibly important for keeping many people safe. Keep it safe, decode it, and once you have done that, get it to the proper authorities. You will know who they are in time. I know that I can trust you with this, Little Raven. I hope, one day, I can come home again. I love you. Oliver Ryan._

Brenna had to read the message twice before she could completely allow herself to believe it. For the first time, all the answers were within her grasp. Her entire face beamed and she found herself exclaiming. "Sherlock, he's alive. My dad is alive, I can't believe it."

Brenna had become carried away by her emotions and the sheer joy by these discoveries. She was perhaps not aware of just what her actions would lead to. But when she threw her arms around Sherlock and brought her lips to his in a crushing kiss, it sent into motion a series of events which was soon beyond their control. It's difficult to say just what made this moment different. Perhaps, it was just the right time for it to happen.

As the kiss progressed beyond what they had been expecting, Sherlock felt his heart begin to pound wildly in his ears, and a burning fire running swiftly through his veins. It thrilled him, like the high on drugs. But it also frightened him. Such an immense outpouring of physical sensations coupled with strong emotions wasn't something he had any experience with. It wasn't something he had ever allowed himself to feel. He couldn't stop it. Every nerve in his body was focused on Brenna, a primal instinct coming loose from the place where it had been restrained for so long.

Acting now entirely on that instinct, Sherlock turned their bodies around, so that he was pushing her into the kitchen counter, with barely an inch of space between their bodies. He felt her gasp in surprise at the suddenly passionate move. He pushed his tongue roughly into her mouth, needing to taste her. Her body began to mold around him. Unconsciously, his hand reached up to sweep itself through her dark blond tresses, marveling at how soft it was. Actually, a great deal of Brenna was striking him as soft tonight, from the skin around the nape of neck to the way her breasts were pushed up against his chest.

But it still wasn't enough. His body was screaming now, desperate for fulfillment. But still, confusion reigned in his mind. Was he ready for this? Could he take this step from which there would be no going back? What if he wasn't enough to satisfy her? That last one almost made him laugh. Whoever would have thought that such a thing would have been a cause to worry him? Fear of being unable to bring about sexual satisfaction in one's partner, it seemed so ordinary.

And yet, though Sherlock's mind may have been twisting itself into knots, his body knew exactly what it wanted. And both Brenna and Sherlock felt the signs of it at pretty much the same moment.

He immediately broke off the kiss, and the two stood staring into each other's eyes, panting heavily. Brenna had been startled by Sherlock's sudden actions, but she had quickly stated reciprocating. Now, looking into Sherlock's face, she saw what he was feeling about this encounter. Desperation, confusion, passion, desire. His eyes were normally pale ice blue, were now dark with desire, pupils fully dilated.

"What happens now?" He asked, at last, sounding so terribly confused that Brenna felt her heart go out to him.

"Do you have to guess?" Brenna asked at last, nodding down to where their hips were grinding together, and where she was now feeling something definitely throbbing. "I could give you a hint." She shifted her hips, brushing against Sherlock's erection, causing him to breathe in sharply and close his eyes, trying to process the thrilling waves of arousal pulsing through his body. But his logical mind was swiftly abandoning him. This was completely new territory for him. He didn't know how he would be able to cope.

"Brenna," he whispered softly, unable to keep the uncertainty in himself from coloring his tone. "I don't know… I've never done this before. I thought I knew what it all entailed, but…"

"You didn't know that it would be this strong." Brenna finished for him. She stroked Sherlock's cheek, trying to show him that she understood. "Sherlock, do you want to do this?"

Sherlock, standing upon the edge, knew what he wanted. Despite his uncertainty, he wanted this. Having traversed the edges of this sensation once, who knew if he would ever have the will to face it again? Besides, he had never backed down from a challenge. And he knew, in some ways, this would be the most difficult challenge of all. Swallowing hard, Sherlock took the plunge. "Yes, I want you, I only want you."

Brenna, despite herself, was thrilled to hear those words. She had been with a lot of men, and she wasn't proud of all those relationships. But, this was different. No one had ever said that he wanted her quite like Sherlock, so filled with desire and true tenderness that it made her want to jump for joy.

She didn't do that, of course. It would have spoiled the moment. Instead, she leaned her forehead against his, and said, "I understand, Sherlock. You don't have to be afraid, I trust you. But let me tell you, there's only one thing you need to know when it comes to situations like this."

"Oh, really? Only one?"

"Well, there are probably more. We can discover those together. But the one I know that never changes." She leaned in even closer to him, Sherlock restraining himself from kissing her again. "When it comes to this, don't think, don't try to analyze. Just try to let yourself feel."

For a few seconds, the two stood in that same position, until Brenna stepped away from him. Ha had to stifle a groan of disappointment from the loss of her body against his, but then, Brenna was throwing a soft smile in his directions, but the invitation was quite clear in her eyes and the way in which she was moving towards the steps. "Come on, Sherlock. Let me show you."

She disappeared up the steps, never breaking eye contact with him. He knew that she was headed up to the bedroom. Well, it was only logical. It would be better to do it there then on the kitchen counter. Sherlock went over to the steps, pausing for just a second on the threshold. His hands were trembling with an odd mixture of fear and excitement. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it. Despite his lingering doubts, he wasn't going to let himself walk away. And so he followed the woman he loved up the stairs.

It didn't take him long at all to catch up with Brenna at the top of the stairs. He caught her by the elbow, pulling her into his arms and began kissing her again. He was attempting to focus on the moment, allowing his senses to absorb Brenna as much as possible. The feeling of her lips molding to his, while their tongues languorously tasted each other, was so intense that he didn't notice at first that they had gotten to the bedroom and that Brenna had already managed to discard his suit coat and had unbuttoned three of the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers moving along his bare chest was yet another sensation for him to focus on. He broke off the kiss to star her curiously.

"Well, it is kind of hard to make love when we both are fully clothed." Said Brenna, with a grin.

Sherlock regarded her with a raised eyebrow. "You're enjoying far too much. It's almost disturbing."

"Is it, Sherlock?" She had undone all the buttons by this time. "I think you'll find yourself enjoying it quite a lot once we get going." Suddenly, fingertips turned to fingernails, skating rapidly down his chest. This time, Sherlock couldn't control himself. A deep groan came from his chest. He pulled her into him again, his mouth crushing against her, as he pushed her towards the bed.

At some point, his lips left her mouth and began to travel down her neck. He heard her moan, and he found himself feeling a slight touch of vanity. He could make her react like that as well. Not to mention there were some places that seemed to trigger a particularly satisfying mewl of desire from her. He could already tell that the number of rooms dedicated to Brenna in his Mind Palace would be increasing exponentially by the time this night was over.

They finally managed to get the bed. There, Brenna pulled him down so that they were both kneeling on the bed. At this point, Sherlock could feel himself becoming desperate. He had never felt this amount of desire for anyone, had never wanted something more. Brenna, however, was proving to be right. It was difficult to gain the full satisfaction of bodily contact when there was material in the way. Brenna was wearing entirely too many clothes. He needed to remedy that as soon as possible.

He grabbed hold her blouse, pulling it up over her head. He had never seen her with so much skin exposed, and he liked it. Yes, this was much more satisfying. But, there was something else that he wasn't expecting.

Brenna, who had been enjoying the way his hands had been pressing down on her skin, He seemed to pay far more attention to the sensitive places than most men did. Not to mention that burning gaze he swept over her, as if trying to memorize every inch of her body in a single glance. However, he paused for a moment when he reached her bra. He stared at it for several seconds, perfectly confused. Brenna was confused as he was for several seconds before it dawned on her. "Sherlock, you can't honestly tell me you don't know what a bra is?"

Sherlock glared at her in annoyance. "I know what they are, I just never had any use to know anything else." His fingers traced the swell of her breast through the green satin of her bra, and she felt herself shuddering. "Why on earth do you wear something like this? All it does is get in the way."

"Sculpting and support, Sherlock. You might be surprised how incredibly important those two things can be to a woman." Sherlock was still trying to get at her breasts while she was speaking. Those caresses finally got the better of her, and she let out a stifled moan. "Though I will admit that they can be a bit nuisance."

"So, are you going to help me get it off so we can proceed?" asked Sherlock, in obvious irritation.

Brenna rolled her eyes, but reached behind her back to unhook the clasps, before pulling the straps off of her shoulders. Sherlock stared at her. "That's it?"

"Well, were you expecting it to be more complicated?"

"I hadn't considered it very deeply." Sherlock said, though his tone seemed to be more distracted than usual. He leaned over Brenna, studying her chest with intense interest.

Brenna's breathing grew short, under that intense gaze. His hands reached out, and they began to caress them. He was almost obsessively fascinated with them. He passed his hands over the swells, moving to the nipples, already hardened with her arousal. He noted that Brenna's head went back, and she began to moan and tremble underneath his ministrations. Sherlock cocked his head, "Your actually finding this pleasurable are you?" He asked, in obvious surprise.

"And you're not?" Brenna managed to gasp out, "I know you would be getting into this sooner or later." She sat up slightly and grinned at him. "You're quite eager, aren't you?"

Her voice had dropped nearly an octave, and she was positively purring. Despite himself, Sherlock found himself returning the smile. "I always have heard that breasts can be incredibly receptive to sensory arousal during the act of sexual intercourse." As if needing to confirm it yet again, he lightly squeezed one of them, eliciting another throaty groan from Brenna. "Apparently, those reports are accurate."

Brenna's eyes had dilated fully by this point. Her arms came around Sherlock's neck. "You may never have done this before, Sherlock." She said, with a throaty whisper, "But you have a way of making a girl hot and bothered before the main action even starts."

"Is that good-" Sherlock was abruptly cut off by Brenna assaulting him with her lips again. Things began moving quickly after that, and before any off them knew it, all clothes had been discarded, and Sherlock had pushed Brenna down on the sheets. The two were kissing, passion and desire evident in their every caress.

Sherlock found that his mind couldn't analyze this situation. The physical pleasure and overwhelming emotions were coming too swiftly for that. But, strangely, for the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid of the prospect of losing control. It only felt right to be here, with Brenna, giving her everything of himself.

He had surrendered completely, and he couldn't say he regretted succumbing to his emotions. In fact, when he broke off the kiss momentarily, he found himself staring at her supine form beneath him. Brenna raised herself on her elbows, concern showing her face. "Sherlock, if everything all right?"

"Yes, it's not that, it just…" Sherlock eased her back down on the bed, his eyes never leaving her face. He couldn't look away. Brenna pulled to his very soul like a magnet. For a brief second, it was as though she were the only thing in the entire world that mattered. "Brenna, you're beautiful." He leaned forward, kissing her forehead tenderly

Those words spoken in a sort of awed half whisper moved her. She knew that Sherlock wasn't comfortable with emotions. Even being in a relationship with her for a year didn't always change that. But, in this moment, she saw him laid bare and all his love for her exposed. She knew that the only reason he felt he could do such a thing was because he trusted her so completely. She was so privileged. She could never forget that.

Neither of them would ever be able to forget the moment of their first joining. Despite some fumbling and awkwardness which always marks the first intimate encounter between two people becoming lovers, there was something about that moment which seemed to pull them even deeper into each other. For a very brief moment in time, which seemed to last a lifetime, they became one.

Brenna felt herself wrapped in the deepest, warmest love she had ever experienced, one which was completely without judgment or reproach. Sherlock heard her say his name when she climaxed in his arms, and he had never heard it spoken in that way, so accepting of everything that he was. It had been a long time since either of them had found that something like that. Coupled with the almost overpowering intensity of their mutual physical satisfaction, it was little wonder that the moment was truly perfect.

As the shudders of pleasure began to subside, Sherlock and Brenna continued to cling to one another. Sherlock had his face pressed into her neck, breathing in her scent, and also measuring the rate of her pulse. It fell comfortably within the range of a woman who had just experienced sexual climax. That relieved him somewhat. It showed that some part of his brain was still active and capable of observing his surroundings and coming to conclusions through the use of science.

At last, their breathing began to find some sense of a normal pattern, and Sherlock rolled off of her. "That was…" He paused, trying to find the right word and failing miserably, so he went with the one that was most scientifically correct. "Invigorating."

Brenna burst out laughing. Sherlock hoped that it was the excess of endorphins racing through her bloodstream, and not the fact that she thought he had said something incredibly amusing. "Yeah, invigorating. You could say that. Of course, that's practically an understatement. I always knew you would be good at this sort of thing."

Sherlock, despite his best efforts, really didn't know what to say. He was no expert in what one was supposed to say in these situations. He had no doubt in time he would become better practiced. But right now, all he could really do was pull her closer to him. For some reason, despite drowning his senses in her body in the most intimate of ways, had not eliminated his need to feel her closer to him. To his mild surprise and gratification, Brenna responded by settling deeper into his arms and sighing in contempt. Without thinking, Sherlock found himself saying, "Brenna, thank you."

Brenna shifted a little bit to look up into his eyes. "What for?"

"Just being with me here tonight. I wouldn't have wanted it to be with anyone but you."

Brenna smiled. "Same here, Sherlock. And I look forward to being with you like this a lot more. This is only the beginning." For once, Sherlock could not argue with her statement, not when he agreed to it, with all his heart.

Truly content with where they were and who they were with, perhaps for the first time in their lives, Brenna and Sherlock soon surrendered to sleep.

* * *

I must admit, that writing this sort of heavy sex scene is not my strong suit. I think that it turned out all right, but please forgive any parts that felt a little awkward. Please read and review.

Next chapter: For every first night, there is always a first morning to contend with, in all it's tenderness and embarrassment.


	3. The Morning After

Thanks to everyone reading and favoriting this story. I know that these first few chapters are still pretty much what the original draft was. But there will be a few differences once we get into the meat of the story. Enjoy these next few chapters.

The Morning After:

Awakening came gradually to Sherlock. That was his first clue that things were a bit unusual this morning. Most often, he came awake in an instant, his mind snapping to focus on every little detail the moment he opened his eyes. This, however, was different. He became aware of the sensations in his body: there was heaviness in his limbs, and he felt sore, as though muscles which had not been used for a very long time had recently been through a very strenuous test. He was naked, and the bed he was sleeiping in didn't feel like his own.

He opened his eyes slowly. He looked around him, only to see that he was in a strange bedroom, and wherever he was, he wasn't alone. Someone was sleeping beside him. It was Brenna, and if his identification with her bodily condition was correct, she was also nude beneath the sheets that covered her. What was going on? How on earth had he and Brenna wound up in the same room, in the same bed and naked?

Oh. Oh. OH.

He and Brenna had just consummated their relationship last night. That's what had happened.

Sherlock had never really bothered about sex before. In fact, he had totally ignored it. It seemed such a pointless venture, a waste of time, save for bringing in the next generation. And as that could be accomplished by other means now, he hadn't been able to see the point of shagging someone, most often a complete stranger, in a cheap motel or other equally unsavory locations, when that time and energy might be better spent in other pursuits?

But, that wasn't how he felt with Brenna. Making love to her had been so fulfilling. Sherlock had never attempted such intimacy with another person, but with Brenna, it had felt so completely natural. He had always felt safe with her; last night had only proved it.

He was brought out of his thoughts when he felt Brenna stir beside him. He looked over at her, and saw that her eyes were opening. She stared at him for a few seconds. "Hello." He had absolutely no idea if that was the right thing to say the morning after having sex for the first time, but he really couldn't think of anything better.

Brenna, however, seemed to know what to do. She immediately leaned over and kissed him. Completely on instinct, Sherlock reacted by kissing her back. After a moment, Brenna broke off the kiss. She paused, as if considering something, than smiled in a self-satisfied manner. "So, last night wasn't a dream."

Sherlock looked at her. "Did you often have dreams that were related to the events of last night?"

"Of course, didn't you?"

Sherlock coughed, a little embarrassed. "I might have had a few dreams of that nature, yes. I think that I preferred the reality more, though."

Brenna laughed. "I'm glad to hear it. I take it that you did enjoy yourself, then?"

"Well, I… Yes, I did. It was just, not what I was expecting." Not sure if that sounded wrong, he quickly said, "That is, I don't mean to imply that our sexual joining was inferior, I just have never…"

"Sherlock, please don't try and explain. You'll sprain a muscle in your brain and we couldn't have that. I understand what you're trying to say."

"You do?"

"Yes, because I'm feeling it too. You're not my first, Sherlock, you know that. But you were the first that actually meant something to me. You made me feel special, loved, and beautiful, like I was the only woman you ever wanted to be with."

Sherlock was utterly confused. "No one else has ever made you feel that way?"

Brenna shook her head. "No, I have to admit, that's one part of my past that I'm not really proud of. I had too many flings and one night stands that went nowhere, especially when I was starting out. I never knew that I could feel anything like what I shared with you last night."

Sherlock had never heard her say anything like that to him before. He was not sure how to respond. Expressing any sort of emotions was still far beyond his skill set. "Well, uh, in light of that," he managed to stumble out at last, "I should tell you that you've never been more beautiful to me than you are now. And I can't remember loving you more."

Brenna's entire face seemed to glow when she heard this. It made her seem even more beautiful. She leaned over to kiss him again. Sherlock very willingly accepted pulling her into his arms, and threading his fingers through her hair. They needed no more. It was enough.

Until the shrill beeping of the alarm clock effectively ended the moment. Brenna groaned and hit the button on her clock. "Stupid alarm clock." She muttered, "The one morning I want it to be broken, it doesn't cooperate. I suppose there's no avoiding it. We must head back to the real world. I'm going to take a quick shower. Make yourself comfortable."

She drew back the covers from her body and Sherlock immediately found his gaze drawn to the places on her body where he had lavished so much attention the night before. Brenna obviously noticed his gaze, and as she reached for her robe, she threw him a saucy smile. "Glad to see that you're enjoying the view."

She disappeared and Sherlock found himself grinning as he leaned back against the pillows. Every so often, he was reminded that, despite the distractions of being in an emotional relationship, the perks far outweighed the drawbacks. In fact, that morning, he found that he was having difficulty figuring out just what those drawbacks were.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Brenna was finished showering. Seeing that Sherlock had already gotten dressed (and made the bed, she couldn't help but notice with a smile. Though he had no qualms about allowing a miniature whirlwind of clutter and chaos to be set loose in the kitchen and living room of 221B, his own bedroom there was immaculate), she went downstairs. Sherlock was staring intently at the toaster, obviously waiting for the bread to pop up. Brenna couldn't help but say, "Watched toast never pops."

Sherlock looked around at her. "What?" And no sooner had he averted his gaze, than the toast popped up.

Brenna smirked. "See?" Sherlock gave her a glare before removing the toast and reaching for the butter. "I don't think I've seen you eat breakfast." She said, with apparent interest. "I didn't even know that you ate in the mornings. And I come down here seeing you make toast of all things."

"Are you going to tell me that you didn't think I knew how a toaster works?"

"No, I knew that you could make a toaster work when I found those thumbs cooking in it." Noticing that Sherlock had finished buttering the toast, and was now looking around the kitchen with a frown, said, "Strawberry jam's in the fridge."

Sherlock seemed surprised. "How did you-"

"Saw it one day when I trying to find milk for my coffee. John doesn't like strawberry jam, so I naturally assumed that it must be for you. That and the fact that it was beside the container that had the preserved human liver. John won't touch any food that's anywhere near your specimens. It could also simply be that I have happened to find out that strawberry is your one weakness when it comes to food. You can't seem to resist it."

Sherlock huffed, as he opened the fridge, and took out the strawberry jam. "Anything else you'd care to reveal that you found out about me?"

"How about the fact that I now know you prefer boxers over briefs?"

Sherlock shot her a glance. "Is that all for witty banter this morning?"

Brenna grinned, as she poured herself a bowl of cereal. "For now, yes."

Sherlock sat down at the table, only to notice that Brenna was smiling. "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just… doesn't this all seem rather domestic to you?"

Sherlock looked at her. "Domestic?"

"Yes, I mean, here we are, eating breakfast the morning after we had sex. We're going to have to be careful, or we'll end up like an old married couple."

"I must admit that thought had never occurred to me."

Sherlock and Brenna continued eating in a comfortable silence, until Sherlock's phone rang. It was Lestrade, who apparently had a potential case for him. "Duty calls, Brenna." He said, as he hung up.

"I have to go to work, anyway." Said Brenna.

Sherlock grabbed his coat, but as Brenna was getting up to put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, Sherlock caught her by the waste, and kissed her gently on the lips. It was meant to be a reassurance, to let her know how much last night had been to him, when he could not tell her in words. When they parted, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I love you."

"That's a good thing, because I love you, too." Twice in one morning, she thought to herself with a thrill. He had told her he loved her twice. She could really learn to get used to this.

Sherlock gave her a small smile, and headed for the day. "I'll call you tonight." Just as he was finishing, he happened to be opening the door at the exact same time. And he turned around, only to find that he was standing face to face with Alice Bennett, who had just been about to knock on the door.

"Sherlock," said Alice, after a moment of silence, which was more than a little awkward. "Good morning, I wasn't expecting to see you here, so early."

Brenna immediately heard the voice of Alice, and inwardly cursing herself, she hurried to the door and said, "Oh, Alice, hi. I wasn't expecting you to pick me up. Sherlock was just leaving."

"Yes, yes, I was, wasn't I?" said Sherlock, with less than his usual command of the language. "I'll call you. Bye, Brenna. Have a good day."

With that, he hurriedly pushed past the two women and walked down the street with long strides. Brenna and Alice watched him go, Brenna feeling like she would die from embarrassment and Alice with particularly keen interest. "You know, that's probably the first time that I've ever seen Sherlock blush." She said, finally. She looked back at Brenna. "You have something of a glow about you yourself."

"Ok, ok, crow all you want. What are you doing here? You don't normally pick me up at home."

"Special assignment. I got a call this morning from an officially anonymous source."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. Whoever they were asked for you and me specifically. They said the directions would be downloaded remotely into my squad car's GPS."

"Sounds a bit questionable. Are you sure this meeting is clean?"

"They had all the right codes; we'll know when we get there. Grab your coat and let's go."

Her interest peaked, Brenna wasted no time. A moment later, they were in the squad car, heading for who knows where. As they weaved in and out of traffic, the silence soon became unbearable for Brenna. "Look, Alice, about what you saw…"

"I don't what to hear about it, Brenna. What you do with Sherlock in your off time really isn't any of my business. Just so long as you were safe."

"What are you, my mother?"

"I'm just saying, Brenna, that a person in your position isn't exactly in the best place to deal with certain consequences of your relationship."

"Well, don't worry; I've been on the pill for the last few months."

"So last night wasn't the first time that you and Sherlock-"

"It was, but I figured with Sherlock, it was better to be safe than sorry."

"Probably so." Alice looked at her and smiled. "I'm glad, you know."

"Really?"

"Yes, you and Sherlock have been dancing around this for the past three years. Even before you were dating, there were times when the smoldering glances you gave each other would have set a pile of dead leaves on fire."

"That's not true."

"Of course, you would deny it. But for myself, I just sometimes wanted to throw you two in a room together for a few hours and just let nature take its course."

Brenna rolled her eyes and say back in her seat. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"And you didn't?"

Brenna looked at Alice, and she turned her gaze away from the road for a brief second to meet her eyes. After a few seconds, the two of them started to laugh, and nothing more was said of the subject for the rest of the day.

* * *

Sherlock had entertained a moderate hope that John would still be in bed when he got back to 221B. That way Sherlock would be able to avoid explaining to him why he was showing up at their flat wearing the same clothes which he had worn yesterday. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his actions, indeed, far from it. However, he had been certain that John would frazzle with dozens of inane questions, the answers to which should have been obvious.

However, he had no such luck. John just happened to be coming out of the flat when Sherlock walked up. "Oh, Sherlock, there you are. Lestrade called me; said something about a triple homicide in the City." He looked Sherlock up and down. "You didn't come home last night." The way he phrased it, it was a statement and not a question.

"Yes, obviously." Said Sherlock, steeling himself for the inevitable interrogation.

Instead, he was astonished when John simply nodded and said, "Oh, right. Well, we should probably get down there before Lestrade sends a squad car after us."

He stepped to the curb to hail a cab, leaving Sherlock standing on the sidewalk, more than a little dumbfounded. This wasn't what he had been expecting. He had felt certain that John would want to press the issue. Could John have already figured out where he was?

That question was answered a moment later, when John asked him. "By the way, do you want to get something on the way? I know for a fact that you haven't eaten since yesterday morning."

"I had already had breakfast." Said Sherlock, automatically, before wincing when he realized that he had just given himself away.

John smirked when he saw his friend's reaction, not to mention that Sherlock looked slightly more red than usual. "I see. In that case, we won't worry about it then."

This continued throughout the whole of that day. During his investigation of the crime scene, Sherlock kept seeing John trying not to hide a big grin, and the sparkle in his eyes was enough to give away his amusement. He didn't tell Lestrade, who was having a little trouble figuring why Sherlock seemed by turns both extremely annoyed with John, but almost uncommonly pleasant to everyone else, at least as Sherlock ever could be pleasant to anyone.

Finally, when they got back to the flat, Sherlock entered in a huff, throwing off his coat and turning to John with an irritated air. "All right, before you start pelting me with questions, yes, Brenna and I did have sex for the first time last night. I have it on her good authority that she enjoyed it, and she fully intends to make it a regular part of our relationship in the future. It's a prospect that I fully support and I have no intention of leaving her after a one night stand."

John, who had been standing in the doorway of the living room, had listened to this whole speech with raised eyebrows. "You know, Sherlock, that was almost more information then I needed to know."

"But you've clearly been dying to ask those questions ever since I came home this morning. I merely wanted to get them out of the way so that things wouldn't be awkward the next time that you saw Brenna and me together."

"Sherlock, for heavens' sake, I knew the moment I saw you this morning that something had happened between the two of you. And even if I wasn't so much of an idiot not to notice, the fact that you've been grinning like a Cheshire cat all morning would have been a dead giveaway."

Sherlock beamed John an annoyed glare. "I _have_ not been doing that."

John smirked as he sat down in his chair. "Actually, yes, you have Sherlock. And if I may say so, a rather smug Cheshire cat."

"Oh, dear God." Muttered Sherlock, as he went over to his violin and prepared to screech out some sort of atonal music which he claimed would help clear his mind. And hopefully would bring this ridiculous conversation to an end. Honestly, why did he always get into these conversations with John? The answer was because he considered John a friend, and despite himself, Sherlock valued his opinion, though he would never have admitted it out loud.

"I am glad, you know." Said John.

"Really? Why ever should you be? You can't claim to be in a similar position with your nonexistent relationships."

John ignored that jibe and said, "No, I'm just glad for both of you. I knew that you wouldn't be sleeping with Brenna until you were ready to take on the level of commitment that she would expect from such an action. It shows just how much you want to be with her. I'm glad because the two of you deserve some real happiness after all you've been through."

For just a moment, Sherlock lowered his violin and turned to look at John in astonishment. How had he known? That had been one of the things which had been holding him back from having sex with Brenna. She had already been assured of his commitment to her, but Sherlock knew that sleeping with her would put that commitment on an entirely different level. However, he hadn't told John that. And yet, it seemed as though his friend had been able to divine it simply by observing him.

Sometimes, it could still be a surprise to him just how much John Watson knew about him without any words passing between them. It was one of those rare moments when Sherlock just might have conceded that John might be smarter than him in some things, and certainly far wiser as well.


	4. Royal Appointments

Royal Appointments:

When Brenna and Alice arrived at the destination which the GPS had led them to, they were completely stunned, and lost for words. The remote directions had led them to none other than Buckingham Palace, and not just the main entrance either, but the private entry around the back.

"Well, this is certainly new." Said Alice, when they had both found their voices.

"What, you've never had a call from the royal family?"

"Not directly, no. Then again, this still might be for nothing."

However, when they rode up to the gates, the guard on duty had apparently been expecting them, for he waved them through once he had seen Alice's ID badge. They also encountered no resistance when they went inside the Palace, and indeed, they received a further surprise, when they were told that they were already expected.

It was only when they were inside and waiting to be shown to their meeting with whoever had summoned them that Alice noticed Brenna was trying to wander.

"Brenna, where do you think you're going?" Alice asked.

"I was just going to inspect the Queen's private art collection, while you chat with whoever is setting up this little get together. Make sure that all the security is up to date, maybe check out some of the Da Vincis."

Alice raised an eyebrow. She was fairly certain that Brenna was kidding, but she had learned never to fully trust the former thief when she got that gleam in her eye. She went over to Brenna, grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her away. "Or, you could simply trust that the collection is quite safe without your input and come with me as I am sure that was the intention."

"You are really no fun, Alice, you know that?"

"I don't recall ever being here to make your life fun, Brenna. You'll just have to accept that."

They were led into an opulent room in the Palace, with crystal chandeliers and mirrors. There were two couches facing each other, with a coffee table in-between the two of them. Here, the two of them proceeded to sit and wait for twenty minutes.

"You'd think that the Queen would have a better sense of keeping her appointments on time." muttered Brenna, in annoyance.

"We may not be meeting the actual Queen in person, Brenna, don't get your hopes up."

"Well, whoever it is certainly has an inflated sense of their own importance." As if on cue, who should walk into the room but Mycroft Holmes. One glance and Brenna said, "Speaking of which, I am not entirely surprised to see you here, Mycroft. However, we may have to ask you to leave soon; we are expecting someone very important."

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead favored Brenna with a cool expression of mild tolerance. There had been a subtle shift in the dynamic of their acquaintance. Ever since the incident with Brenna's sister a few months, the two of them were now not quite as antagonistic as they had been. Mycroft had grudgingly conceded that Brenna just might be a worthy match for his brother, while Brenna had accepted that Mycroft may have some good qualities. However, they were still far from friends, and meeting with him was far down on the list of things which Brenna would have enjoyed doing with her morning.

"Good morning to you to, Brenna." Said Mycroft (it was a start of greater respect between the two of them that Mycroft was actually calling her by her first name now, at least when it was just the two of them), "However much you may not want to see me, I am sorry to say that will be difficult. I am the one who you are meeting."

Brenna's eyebrows rose. "You?"

"Does that seem so very hard to believe?"

Brenna stared at Mycroft for a few seconds before she conceded the point. "No, I guess not."

Mycroft than turned his attention to Alice. "I don't believe that I have had the pleasure, though I can probably guess who you are."

"My name is Detective Inspector Alice Bennett. I'm Brenna's supervising officer."

"I don't envy you that job. My name is Mycroft Holmes."

Alice raised an eyebrow. "Holmes? You wouldn't happen to be related to someone named Sherlock, would you?"

"His older brother, for better or for worse." Said Brenna. She had no idea what this particular secret meeting at Buckingham Palace with Mycroft was supposed to be about. However, it gave her unexpected opportunity to observe the behavior of Mycroft and Alice together. This was supposedly the first time that either of them had met. But Brenna knew from Shane that this wasn't the case. She found herself watching the two of them closely as they interacted, looking for any sort of behavior which might give them away. They might have been trying to be careful, but she could see that there were subtle signs that, despite their so-called "introduction" these two were far from strangers.

However, she somehow sensed that this wouldn't be the best place to demand an explanation. She wasn't even sure what she would be demanding of them. So, she tucked this latest piece of information away for future brooding purposes. "So, are you going to tell me what we're doing here, and are we going to play a rousing game of twenty questions?"

"This is not a laughing matter, Brenna. You will realize that soon enough." No sooner had he spoken than he was joined by another man. He was tall and thin, with the same impeccable suit and aristocratic bearing of Mycroft. Brenna wouldn't have been surprised if they both did the same jobs, just in different places. "Ah, Harry, there you are. Just in time. Allow me introduce Brenna Ryan and Detective Inspector Alice Bennett."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." Said Harry, as he shook hands with them both. "I've been learning a great deal about you in the past few days, Miss Ryan, as has my employer."

Brenna raised her eyebrows. "Your employer?"

"Yes, the person who summoned you here today. I must say, however, that they are remaining entirely anonymous throughout this whole business."

Brenna looked around her, as though confirming that they were still at Buckingham Palace, before turning her gaze back to Harry. "You honestly think secrecy even makes any sense in this instance?"

"Brenna." Said Alice, in warning.

"It's quite all right, Inspector." Said Mycroft. "I already warned Harry that he shouldn't be expecting the usual… delicacy of manners when it came to Brenna's presence."

"Which is part of the reason why my employer called you here today, Miss Ryan." Said Harry, as he and Mycroft sat down. "You were actually asked for specifically."

"Really?"

"Yes, your skills in subterfuge and deception are just the kind needed for what has become an extremely delicate matter of state."

"You flatter me, Mycroft. Would you care to elaborate?"

Both Mycroft and Harry exchanged glances, before Harry ventured. "A few months ago, a person of significance to my employer, fond herself in a compromising situation, with someone who might be described as having a questionable character."

"So, your employer wants someone who is most likely of equally questionable character to help?" said Brenna, "I really don't know if that's a compliment or an insult."

Mycroft smiled coolly at Brenna. "Trust me, Miss Ryan, as questionable as some might find you to be, the person we are about tell you about makes you appear a saint."

"Really? My interest is peaked already."

"In that case, we might as well get into specifics." Mycroft opened the briefcase which he had brought into the room with him, and withdrew several photos, that were obviously of the promotional variety. "Tell me, Miss Ryan, in all your various adventurings around the world, have you ever heard of this woman?"

Brenna took hold of the photos, and any smart remark that she might have been about to make immediately died on her lips. All of the photos showed an exotically beautiful woman with ebony black hair, incredibly blue eyes and a body and face which were perfectly proportioned. The woman was provocatively dressed and posed in all of the photos. Tag lines spoke of pleasure and pain, begging and whimpering, all with a healthy dose of whips.

"Looks like she would be a fun woman to spend an evening with." Alice remarked, as she looked over the photos which Brenna was discarding. She did not have noticed at this point that Brenna had suddenly begun acting almost mechanically.

"Her name is Irene Adler." Said Mycroft, "As you can see from the promotion materials we were able to take off of her website, she has a rather unique occupation."

"So, she's a hooker." Said Alice.

"She prefers the term Dominatrix." Said Mycroft, "She is a self-proclaimed expert at the art of recreational scolding."

"And may I suspect that this person of interest to your employer happened to be in the mood for some of that recreational scolding and had the means to pay for it?"

"You are on the right track, Inspector." Said Harry, "And unfortunately for this young, unnamed person, there were unexpected consequences."

"What kind of consequences?"

"Miss Adler, I'm afraid, operates in a world of sexual intrigues and blackmail." Said Mycroft, "This is consistent with her MO, shall we say. She uses whatever information she gets out of her victims when they are in a vulnerable state. Most often, the people who hire her services are completely unaware that they are being dissected by her. She has already used this means in order to gain a great deal of wealth and power. Miss Adler has been at the center of two political scandals within the last year, not to mention ending the marriage of a prominent novelist by having affairs with both participants separately."

"She took several compromising photographs of her liaison with this young female person on her camera phone." Said Harry, "She got in touch a few days ago, saying that she had them. But she didn't want anything, either money or favor."

"That doesn't mean that she won't use them in the future to gain something that she wants." Said Alice, "I have encountered this sort of scam before, it only ends in a great deal of time and trouble, not to mention psychological wounds which never fully heal."

"Add to that the fact that an entire world is watching your every move, waiting to descend like vultures to tear apart your personal life and expose your darkest secrets for everyone to see, and you can see my employer's problem." Said Harry. "My employer has been very specific. She doesn't want this to happen to the person we have been discussing. That's where you come in, Miss Ryan," he said, turning to Brenna, "My employer has requested that you find Miss Adler and retrieve that camera phone which had the pictures on it."

And it was only at this moment, that Alice realized that Brenna had not said a word for nearly fifteen minutes. She should have been the one asking all the questions. She normally would have been all over a case like this. Granted, stolen masterpieces and things of that sort were her favorite cases. But Brenna had shown more than a few times that she liked walking the line and playing it dangerous. If there was an extreme role to play, Brenna ate it up. While Alice wasn't exactly sure what type of role Brenna would take on for a case like this, she was fairly certain that if the opponent was a dominatrix, Brenna's imagination would be having a field day trying to come up with something that was just as outlandish.

But Brenna had remained utterly silent. And only now that Alice actually looked at her closely did she see that Brenna looked pale, almost sick. She was staring at the pictures of Irene Adler in horror, her hands holding them so tight that they were white at the knuckles. It almost seemed as though she would love to look away, but could not bring herself to do so. Alice wondered what in the world was going on, but before she could ask, Brenna abruptly dropped the pictures on the coffee table, looked at both Harry and Mycroft and said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

This was an entirely unexpected decision, and spoken with such finality, that Mycroft and Harry would been hard pressed in trying to get her to change her mind, by either threats or entreaties. As it was, they were so stunned at her refusal that neither of them could speak, as both of them were used to being obeyed without question.

As for Brenna, it appeared as though she just wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Seizing upon the silence that came in the wake of her statement, she said hurriedly, "I understand why you would want to get those photos back, and I am flattered that your anonymous employer thought that I would be an ideal choice to do the job. But, I am actually the worst person she could have chosen. I know Irene, she knows me. She would be able to smell a trap from a mile away. If you want those pictures back, you're going to have to get someone who you can trust to get the job done. Now, please excuse me."

Before either Mycroft or Harry could make any sort of reply, Brenna grabbed her coat, and it seemed to Alice that she fairly ran out of the room.

Brenna didn't slow down until she was in the squad car, and she was fairly sure that she wouldn't be followed. Only then did she allow the full force of the last fifteen minutes to flow in upon her.

Irene. Irene Adler was back. That wasn't necessarily a surprise to her. She had vaguely heard about Irene's movements over the years. Indeed, she had known sometimes that Irene was in London, but she had never made any attempt to contact her. But for some reason, when Brenna had seen those pictures of Irene, her blood had run cold. Somehow, she had the terrible sense that this sudden appearance of Irene was no accident. For some reason, this time, it felt different.

She was still deeply troubled when Alice finally caught up with her. She got into the car and stared at her for many long moments, until she finally said, "Should I ask what that was all about?"

"I don't know if you should."

"Brenna-"

"No, Alice, I can't. Not right now."

Alice stared at her for several seconds, worry evident in her expression. Brenna was more than a felon who she was in charge of. She was a friend, one who Alice wanted to help. But, there were still some secrets that Brenna clearly could not face. If she wasn't going to let Alice help her, there was really nothing that she could do. So, she merely nodded and started the car. However, Alice wouldn't be forgetting this. And she had already begun to make a few plans herself about looking into this Adler woman's past, and just what her connection was to Brenna Ryan.

* * *

Please read and review.

Next chapter: More information is revealed abut the supposed death of Brenna's father, and how he might have survived Moriarty's attempt to kill him. Romance also continues to bloom for Sherlock in his relationship with Brenna, and John, himself, when he meets someone that seems perfect for him in Dublin.


	5. Continuing Affairs

**Thanks to everyone who has favorited, read or reviewed this story. **

Continuing Affairs:

Three days after the incident at Buckingham Palace, Brenna heard no more about it, either from official sources or Mycroft. She hoped that the matter had been dropped. That being the case, she didn't bring it up with anyone else. In fact, she had almost put the incident out of her mind the evening she was spending with Sherlock. John happened to be in Dublin, a fact which Sherlock seemed to have singularly deleted from his memory.

However, their mood of quiet intimacy was more or less interrupted when Shane stopped by to pay them a visit.

"Shane," said Brenna, once she had greeted him, "How did you even know that I was here?"

"Easy," said Shane, "I hacked into your tracking anklet data."

Brenna looked at him incredulously. "You know that is technically illegal, right? Just how many times have you done that?"

"A few times. Hey, there's no harm in using it to check up on where you are."

"Still, it's not something that I would bring up with Bennett the next time you happen to see her." Said Sherlock, "She might not see it quite your own way. Besides, doesn't checking on it make you no better than she is?"

Shane rolled his eyes. "I would love to get in an existential discussion with you, right now, Goggle, but I came here for a reason. It's important."

"It couldn't have waited?" Sherlock said, irritably, "Brenna and I were enjoying a rather quiet evening by ourselves, something that is singularly difficult to do since she and I have been so busy the past few weeks."

"Sherlock, would you be quiet for five seconds. I think Shane is onto something here."

"I am. Brenna, I heard back from my contact in the Dublin Police Department."

At this, Brenna's head immediately snapped up. "What? Did he have anything new?"

Sherlock looked from one to the other. "Is this about Olivier, Brenna?"

"Yes, it is. Shane, Sherlock knows that we've been looking into the circumstances surrounding my dad's death."

"Death is no longer the accurate descriptive word, Brenna. We have managed to learn that he is, in fact, alive and that he faked his own death for a purpose we have yet to determine, though it seems to be something of a spying nature."

Shane looked at them both in shock. "Okay, I tell you that your father was most likely murdered, and you both somehow come up with the idea that he's alive? How did you come up with that and why didn't you tell me?"

"Dad managed to get a… message to me a few months ago." Brenna thought it best not to mention the exact nature of that message. She and Sherlock were still trying to decode the journal her father had sent her. What they had unearthed so far seemed to be of an extremely sensitive nature, and since they both suspected it had something to do with Jim Moriarty, they decided that the fewer people who knew about it the better. "It was in code, the same type of code that we used when I was a child."

Shane considered this for a moment, before saying. "You know, that does actually make some sense, considering the information that my contact was able to come across. I told him to keep an eye out for any details on your father's murder. Today, I got this." He handed Brenna a file. "Those are pictures taken the day of your father's car accident. Official reports say that his car stopped at an intersection. When the light turned green, the car exploded in the middle of the crosswalk. There was no explanation as to why that happened. Not even my contact can get at the reports that might indicate some sort of foul play."

Both Sherlock and Brenna studied the photos. They were blurry, as most images from a traffic light would be, and yet they saw enough. At one intersection about two blocks from where the accident had taken place, they clearly saw that her father was in the driver's seat. But when the car arrived at the intersection where the accident had taken place, there was no one in the car.

"Olivier must have somehow managed to escape the car between the taking of this picture and the second." Said Sherlock, after a few seconds. "The fire was so intense that any evidence of a body would have been easier to fake. No one would have been any the wiser that there wasn't a body in the car."

"That gives me an idea as to how he might have survived the fire. The only thing that I don't know is why."

"Brenna, have you spoken to Bennett at all about this?" Sherlock asked, after a pause.

"Why on earth should she?" said Shane, "Alice won't tell her anything even if she did ask."

Sherlock shot Shane a look. "It's really not your decision to make, is it?"

"Stop trying to decide my future for me when I am standing right here." Said Brenna, "I happen to agree with both of you. Alice hasn't been very forthcoming with information in the past when I have asked her about this. In light of this latest information, though, I'm beginning to wonder if another conversation might not be in order."

Shane held up his hands. "You want to waste your time asking her, that's entirely up to you. I still think that you won't be able to count on her for a straight answer." He shook his head and got to his feet. "I need to leave now, I'm afraid. I have a… business appointment that I've been trying to set up for the past week."

"A business appointment?" said Sherlock, with a raised eyebrow, "At this time of the night? It must not be anything to do with your regular legitimate business. You must have some stolen merchandise to inspect."

"If I did, I would be the first to deny it. Bye, Brenna. I'll keep on the lookout for more information. I sure hope that you're making the right choice by going to Alice. Good luck."

As Shane left, Brenna sighed and rolled her eyes. "I do have a great deal of affection for Shane, but he does sometimes grate on my nerves."

"You think that Bennett is keeping something from you?" Sherlock asked.

"I wish I knew, Sherlock. I don't know why Alice would keep any sort of secret like this from me, but I also have no reason not to trust her. She's been nothing but good to me, the one person who was willing to give me a second chance when no one else was. I have to try and do the same thing with her." She stood up to take her empty cup of tea into the kitchen, speaking as she went. "Either way, I won't know for sure until I ask, will I?"

Sherlock, who appeared by this time to be lost in thought, with his fingers steepeled under his nose, merely huffed his response. However, as Brenna was about to place her cup of tea in the sink, he asked, "By the way, would you like to engage in sexual intercourse tonight?"

The question was delivered in typical Sherlock fashion: completely personal, utterly unexpected, yet delivered with such perfect unconcern that Sherlock might as well have been asking her about the state of the weather. It startled even Brenna who was used to take Sherlock's questions. She nearly dropped her cup in surprise. "What did you ask me?"

"I believe that you heard me. Is the prospect of our repeating our actions of a few nights ago all that abhorrent to you?"

"No, of course not. Whatever could have given you that idea." She came back into the room and sat down beside him on the couch. "The way that you phrased it was just a little unexpected." She smirked and learned closer to him. "Now that I think about it, I'm not really all that surprised that you chose to proposition me. After all, you have been looking at my back side all evening."

"No, I haven't." said Sherlock, a bit too quickly to be convincing.

"Yes, you have, and when you haven't been looking there, you've been looking at my chest."

Sherlock, realizing that he was caught, said, "I really don't know why you should be offended. I thought that women considered those parts of their bodies to be their most attractive, and yet, if they sense that men are so much as glancing there, they immediately become offended. Now tell me, where is the logic in-"

Brenna had become tired, both of waiting for Sherlock to shut up and for things to finally start moving. So, she did what any sensible, independent woman would have done. She moved to claim Sherlock's mouth with her own in a searing kiss. Sherlock was more or less completely startled. For a brief second, he was frozen, and didn't respond. But as his mind slowly began to go blank, that was no longer a problem. Instinct took over. One arm went around the small of her back, molding her into his body. The other hand went up to the back of her head, and tangled his fingers in her soft hair.

His mouth opened against hers' and his tongue urgently demanded that he gain access to her mouth. Brenna was more than obliging, so long as she could taste him in return. Sherlock received another surprise, when Brenna began to crawl into his lap. He had to admit that he had no idea what she was doing, until he took note of the fact that her thighs were not planted firmly on either side of hips, and the nearness of other parts of his body to hers' was providing some incredibly stimulation.

When they both needed to stop for breath, Sherlock found himself asked, "What is this then?"

Brenna was grinning like the cat that had gotten the crème, and was intending to savor every last drop. "This, oh nothing, just a new position to add a little bit of spice to our foreplay."

"Really? I don't think I've ever been in a position quite like this."

Brenna leaned closer, which put a good deal more pressure on a part of Sherlock's anatomy which, until recently, he had learned to ignore. Now, with Brenna's warmth so near and her desire for him so evident, all thought of self-control was pretty much doomed, and Sherlock heard himself groaning at the feeling.

"That's an interesting confession, Sherlock." She began dropping feather light kisses along his neck and Sherlock felt himself growing even more aroused. "Tell me, how do you like it?"

Sherlock could hardly speak at this point. His mind was wonderfully blank and his body was on fire. Nothing else in the world suddenly mattered to him but Brenna, and what she was doing to him. "So far, I find it quite…invigorating." He wasn't able to get any further. Brenna had found his ear and her tongue was grazing along his inner lobe. At this point, coherent speech was becoming impossible.

However, some parts of his mind were still functioning. He knew what Brenna was trying to do. He knew very well that he was a novice in the matters of sexual foreplay, and that Brenna was taking of advantage of the fact that she was better at something than him. Well, that certainly wouldn't last long. If there was anything that could be said of Sherlock, no matter what he set his mind too, he was a fast learner. He may have only spent one night with Brenna, but every second was seared onto his memory, and he knew just how she would react if certain parts of her body were stimulated in the right way.

Even as his mind was swimming with the delicious endorphins of arousal, one of his hands went underneath her blouse, caressing her skin slowly upward. He felt her pause slightly and her breath caught. He continued his way upward until his hand closed around one of her breasts, kneading the sensitive mound of flesh, until he heard her moaning and felt her head move back slightly. That gave him the opening he had been looking for, as he brought his mouth to her neck, tasting and nipping her flesh along her weak points.

They were both riding on an edge, and it was only with a great deal of reluctance that they managed to draw back, though their bodies remained pressing together, breathing heavily. "Why do I get the feeling this is going to be another source of competition for us?" said Brenna, "Are we going to begin every night with seeing how we can get the other to cum first?"

"I don't know." Said Sherlock, admitting something he rarely did. "But, I'm looking forward to finding out."

"Than shall we begin?" Brenna asked, as she untangled herself from his arms and pulled him to his feet, leading him already in the direction of the bedroom.

Sherlock grinned, "Brenna, lead on."


	6. One Night in Dublin

**I accidentally forgot to put this chapter in the proper place of sequence. My bad. Of course, they have **_**finally**_** gotten John a love interest for the third series, and I am very much looking forward to the BBC's portrayal of Mary Morstan. However, this is also fan fiction, and if I want to get John together with OC, than I will. **

One Night in Dublin:

There were certain moments in John Watson's life that he could remember with perfect clarity, moments when he had experienced a turning point which had the effect of changing him forever. One such moment was the first time that he had ever met Sherlock Holmes.

Perhaps one of the reasons why such moments stayed with him was because they always came when he wasn't even looking for them. One such moment occurred one night in Dublin. He had gone to Ireland to visit an old army friend who was on leave for a few weeks. It was on his last night in Dublin when he went out for what he thought was going to be a short walk and a drink in the local pub, but turned out to be so much more than he could ever have dreamed.

John hadn't necessarily been looking for anyone like her, which was probably why he saw her so fast. She was sitting by herself at one of the tables over by the window, sipping her drink, and like him, just seemed to be taking in the lively scene that was a bar in Dublin at that time of night.

She was absolutely gorgeous, at least from John's perspective. She had straight, golden hair that was shoulder length, sky blue eyes that seemed to have a perpetual spark of laughter in them, and amazing legs. John would have to admit, that was probably the first thing which he noticed about her. He had no idea what it was that made her legs so great, but try as he might, he couldn't tear his gaze away from them for a full five minutes. And when he finally managed to take a look at the rest of her, he found himself completely mesmerized still. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman that he had ever laid eyes on.

He might very well have gone on staring at her for the rest of the evening, had it not been for the patron who had had a little too much to drink, and saw only a lady who was pretty and available.

It was clear that his attentions were acutely unwelcome, but the man, drunk as he was, could not take no for an answer. Finally, John had had enough of being a passive bystander, got up from the bar and walked over to the table. "Darling, there you are. I've been looking all over for you."

She turned around to look at him, and for a brief moment, her eyes flashed in confusion at the sight of the total stranger who was addressing her in such terms at this inconvenient moment. But perhaps something about John struck her as much as she had done for him, for she caught onto what he was trying to do almost immediately. "Oh, yes, dear. I was just about to call you, but, unfortunately, I got interrupted."

"Really?" said John, sizing up the drunk, sitting across from her, "This man giving you a bit of trouble?"

"He was, but I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding and that he was just leaving."

The man might have been drunk, but he was not impaired beyond all his senses, and one look at John's stocky, muscular build and the serious expression on his face, made him decide that it would be a good idea if her let this conquest pass. Muttering something about being sorry to have bothered them, he hurriedly turned and headed for the opposite side of the bar.

Only then did the woman turn to him, a dazzling smile appearing on her face, and John immediately felt his insides turn to mush. "Thanks, I would have gotten rid of him eventually, but it would have taken a lot longer. I would have hated to waste my last night of leave getting rid of a drunken idiot."

"My pleasure. So, you're on leave?"

She held out her hand. "Lizzy, I'm a captain in the Royal Navy."

"John," said John, as he took her hand, "Doctor, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Pleasure, and as you saved my evening, the least I can do is buy you a drink."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I don't think I would have asked you if I wasn't sure."

So, started one of the most captivating evenings of both John Watson and Elizabeth Ryan's lives. The time seemed to speed by as they sat at that table in a Dublin pub, but every moment seemed to be a lifetime in itself. They would never remember exactly what was said, only that, without evening looking, they had found something which they had been searching for all of their lives.

As the evening lengthened into night, the two of them left the pub, and walked along the streets. Unlike in the pub, they didn't say much, but just found a comfortable silence in each other's presence. They never held hands, or made any sort of physical contact, but something was hovering in the air between them, and they were both aware of it.

Finally, they made it the river. Here they stopped and finally turned, and Elizabeth broke the silence. "I think at this point in the evening, I'm supposed to ask if you would like to go back to my place for a nightcap."

"And are you?"

"I'll admit, I'm sorely tempted. But, I also don't know if it would ruin what we enjoyed tonight."

"I actually agree with you, though I am also tempted. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun on a night out."

Elizabeth smiled. "Right, I'm sure that you've got the ladies eating out of your hand back where you came from."

"You might be surprised, actually." said John, "Besides, I've got to catch a flight back to London in a few hours. It wouldn't be a very gentlemanly thing to shag you and then leave you high and dry in the morning."

"That's certainly refreshing to hear. And I'm afraid that I wouldn't be very great company. I have to be back onboard ship by 10:00am next morning."

"Where will you be going?"

"Our schedule puts us in the Gulf for the next few months."

"Oh, I see." Said John, who couldn't quite hide the disappointment in his tone of voice. He had hoped that maybe, just maybe, she might be a bit closer to home.

Elizabeth, however, heard that disappointment. She stepped a little closer to whisper in John's ear. He felt the softness of her hair brushing against his cheek, and her smell danced around him. "I'll be in London at Christmas. I'll be sure to look you up, if you'll do the same for me."

Her hand slipped into his, giving him a slip of paper, which he knew could only be her number. But she didn't withdraw her hand when she did that. It was the first time that they had touched since they had met earlier that evening. Neither of them could deny that there was a spark present when their skin touched. It felt right, it felt like home, and that was a feeling which John Watson had not experienced in a long time.

For a long, breathless moment, they stood facing each other, their fingers intertwined, and then Elizabeth said in soft voice, "I know that if I don't do this, I'm going to hate myself later, so excuse my impertinence."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. John stiffened with surprise for a split second, before he instinctively began to return it. He brought one hand up to cradle the back of her head, as she wrapped one arm around his shoulders. The kiss went no deeper, and it was by no means a long one, but neither of them had ever experienced a kiss quite like it.

As they gently, if reluctantly pulled apart, their foreheads remained pressed together. "I think I'm going to be glad that I met you, John."

"I think I will be to." Said John, with a smile, "I'll see you in a few months."

Elizabeth smiled back at him. "I'll be counting on it."

It was only later, when he was on the plane, that John realized he hadn't even learned her last name. It was only on the ship that Elizabeth found herself wondering if this John she had met was the same John Watson who her sister had told her so much about.

It had been only a chance meeting in a pub, one night in Dublin. But it was a meeting that would change the entire futures of John Watson and Elizabeth Ryan.

* * *

**As I've said before, I love writing for John, as it lets me get out my inner romantic. It's a bit easier to do it with him, then with Sherlock. **


	7. Awkward

Awkward:

When Brenna stirred the next morning, she found herself pillowed against a warm body, the soothing, steady heartbeat under her ear. There was also an arm wrapped firmly around her waist. She opened her eyes sleepily and looked around her. She was in Sherlock's bed, and he was still sound asleep.

Intimacy with Sherlock was certainly opening her eyes to new aspects of his personality. It had been thrilling, scary and everything beyond her wildest dreams. During her years as a con artist, she had had several lovers. Most of them had been charming, handsome faces that she had forgotten in an intoxicating rush of danger and high-society living. But none of them had ever been like Sherlock, none of them had ever stirred so much, so deeply within her, none had left her feeling so loved and satisfied before.

And Sherlock, though he might have been a novice, was proving to be a very fast learner. Brenna smiled a little, as she felt a tremors run through her body as she remembered last night. Yes, Sherlock certainly knew what he was doing when it came to sex. All it took was her using one of her own techniques on him once, and then he would turn around and do the same on her with an alacrity that was quite impressive.

She was brought out of her thoughts when she felt Sherlock stir beneath her. Sherlock opened his eyes, and seemed to have a brief moment of confusion as to where the added warmth around his body was coming from, until he finally looked down. "Oh, good morning."

"Hmm, same to you." said Brenna, with a grin, "Enjoy yourself last night?"

Sherlock looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. "If I recall rightly, I was quite vocal in my expressions of enjoyment, as you were, I might add."

"I must admit that surprises me."

"Why?"

"Most men don't like ending up on the bottom this early in the relationship. It makes them feel inferior."

"Really? The view that I had was positively inspiring."

Brenna burst out laughing, and was delighted when Sherlock added his own laughter to the sound. She loved seeing him like this, so carefree and happy, with none of the pressures of their lives crowding in on them. It was one that she hoped to see a lot more of in the future. "I think that I could get used to making up like this." Said Sherlock, cuddling Brenna a little closer and kissing her on the top of the head.

"I'm glad to hear it, as I intend to make it a very regular part of our relationship in the future."

Sherlock grinned down at her. "In that case, perhaps we should start right now."

Brenna squealed in surprise, as Sherlock suddenly shifted positions, so that he was now the one pinning her on the sheets. His mouth immediately closed around hers, his tongue delving into her mouth before she could even think to react. Sherlock's arms wrapped around her body, bringing her closer so that their bare skin was in contact in the most delicious ways. Brenna moaned in pleasure, intertwining her legs with Sherlock's, much looking forward to another session of lovemaking in the early morning.

Unfortunately, luck wasn't with them this time. The sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice shattered the moment. "Boys, you've got another one." It sounded like she was in the kitchen, and it was quite obvious that she had just received a shock.

Sherlock groaned in frustration, and pried himself off of Brenna with a great deal of reluctance. "Sounds like we have a visitor. And judging by the tone of Mrs. Hudson's voice, he came upstairs uninvited and in a most unusual manner." Sherlock sighed irritably, wishing for the first time in his life that this particular client could have come a few hours later. "Oh, all right."

Brenna was totally stunned the next moment, when Sherlock got up and, instead of putting on some pants as any other normal person would have, he grabbed one of the sheets and wrapped it around himself. "Come on, Brenna."

Brenna gaped Sherlock. "Sherlock, you're just going to go out there wearing a sheet?"

"Brenna, do we really want to be getting into this now? Just come on."

"Sherlock, I'm not going out there wearing a make shift toga."

"Why should it make any difference? You weren't shy about it last night." Brenna crossed her arms and gave him that stubborn look which he knew meant he wouldn't be winning this particular argument. Rolling his eyes in exasperation he bent down and grabbed his shirt from the night before, which had more or less been thrown haphazardly on the floor. "Here, wear this. Happy?"

"Quite, I've always wondered what I would like wearing our clothes."

Sherlock obviously thought the same thing, if his appreciative once over was any indication, before opening the door and going to into the kitchen, Brenna after snagging Sherlock's red robe from the closet, followed close behind him.

When she joined him in the kitchen, she saw Mrs. Hudson sitting at the kitchen table, looking more than a little shaken. Sherlock was kneeling beside a man that was lying unconscious on the living room floor. "Mrs. Hudson, are you all right?"

"Yes, fine, dear." Said Mrs. Hudson, who didn't seem to question at all the fact that Sherlock was standing in the living room wearing nothing but a sheet, or that she herself was wearing his clothes. Perhaps having had Sherlock as a tenant all this time had desensitized Mrs. Hudson somewhat to all the craziness that he could do.

"What happened?" asked Brenna.

"I don't know what happened. I was just up here straightening up a few things and suddenly, there's this man in the living room. He looked absolutely terrified. He muttered something about the door being open, and then he just collapsed in a heap. Oh, is he all right, isn't he, Sherlock?"

"Of course, he is, Mrs. Hudson. He's just fainted." Sherlock got to his feet and shouted, "John!"

John was already apparently on his way down. "All right, all right, Sherlock. There's no need to wake up the whole neighborhood."

"It took you long enough." Muttered Sherlock, as John came into the room.

"Well, I just got back from Dublin a few hours ago, Sherlock, so forgive me for being directly on the ball this mor-" His sentence trailed off when he saw the body on the floor. "Well, that's certainly a great way to begin the morning." His eyes moved to the kitchen, and his eyes widened when he saw Brenna standing in the kitchen. "Oh, Brenna, hello."

"Hi, John." Said Brenna, as she handed Mrs. Hudson a cup of tea. "Sorry about this. It must be a little awkward, this."

"Why on earth should it be?" said Sherlock, "John already knows that we've entered into a sexual relationship. He was sure to walk in on a situation like this at some point."

"No need to put it so bluntly, Sherlock." Said John, "And it's not really any of my business, anyway."

A few minutes later, John had managed to revive the man, who said that his name was Bill Crowder. Sherlock's deduction had proven to be right, even this early in the morning. He did indeed need Sherlock's help. He didn't seem at all phased by the bizarre people who were surrounding him. He had just been put through an incredibly shock, so perhaps that accounted for some of it.

However, just when he was about to begin telling his story, they all heard the door downstairs open and Lestrade's voice on the stair. "Sherlock, I'll get right to the point. We know that a certain Bill Crowder's car is parked outside and we have to bring him in for questioning."

"Oh, god." Muttered Brenna, "Why does everyone I know in the entire world have to walk in right now?"

Lestrade walked in the next moment. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Brenna, standing there, in Sherlock's kitchen, wearing nothing but Sherlock's clothes. "Brenna, you're-"

"Hi, Lestrade." Said Brenna, feeling herself blush a deep scarlet. Having John see her like this was one thing. To have Lestrade see her on the same morning was worse.

Lestrade was still completely flummoxed. "Brenna, are you-"

"Lestrade," said Sherlock, "There's really no need to state the obvious and made Brenna feel even more ill at ease. I'm sure you can construct the train of events, only I don't believe that's why you came."

"Yeah, right. Sorry, Brenna."

A few more seconds of awkward silence followed, before Brenna, finally unable to stand it any longer said, "Well, I don't suppose there's anything more I can add here. I have to be going. I'll just go ahead and get changed then."

She hurried back to Sherlock's room and quickly shut the door. Despite herself, she found herself beginning to laugh. She had thought life with Sherlock was interesting before, but she suspected from now on, interesting wouldn't even be able to cover it.

About half an hour later, Sherlock (still wearing the sheet) stomped back into the room. "Case not interesting for you?" Brenna greeted, getting ready to leave.

"It's not the case. It has a modicum of interest, even if it couldn't rate anymore than a six on my scale."

"Then are you so glum?"

"It's Lestrade." Said Sherlock, in annoyance, "Once he figured out that he had walked in on the two of us having a sexual encounter, he wouldn't stop grinning like an idiot. It will be all over the Yard by this afternoon, you can be certain of that."

"And why should that bother you? I thought that common gossip was something you didn't concern yourself with."

"It's just none of their business. Why must the human race be so completely obsessed with sex?"

"Because humans are inherently fascinated by sex, Sherlock. If they can't find any action in their own lives, they tend to try to fantasize about what it must be like for others. It's the way we're wired, Sherlock. I would have thought that someone like you who was into chemistry would have made a through study of the subject by now."

"But, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Well, wont you find it bothersome to have people whispering about us, behind your back?"

"They do that, already. And not just about you and me. They still find my past to be a source of endless energy for the gossip mill. I don't like it, Sherlock, but I've learned to live with." She noticed that Sherlock still seemed less than happy with the situation, and she suddenly realized what was really bothering him. "Sherlock, are you worried about me?"

Sherlock fidgeted with an edge of the sheet that was still wrapped around himself, and looked away. "Well, I only am thinking of your working performance. It has been proven that people perform less admirably when they have low self-esteem, I only want to know that your reports will look food for Bennett's superiors."

Brenna smiled and kissed Sherlock on the head. "You're sweet, Sherlock. You may not show it all the time, but you are."

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a smile. "Come over tonight when you're done with work."

"It's a date. I'll call you."

* * *

**Please read and review. **

**I should say that from here on out, the story starts to take a far different turn from my original draft. I think that I have a netter idea where this story will be going. I have decided that there will be more focus on Brenna's quest to discover the truth about her father's fate, and the tensions that arise with those around her because of it. Also, Irene is going to have more of a ominous presence. There will be some Sherlock/Irene interaction. However, I am going to say right here and now that Sherlock and Brenna are not going to go through a period of break-up because Sherlock seems obsessed with Irene. I just don't see that happening in character with the two of them, as I have written them. There will be a different kind of tension that they have to contend with. But I don't want to give anything else away.**

**Hopefully, the next chapter should be up soon. **


	8. Past Stories

**I am happy to say that I think I have a better idea of where this story is headed. Hope that you enjoy this chapter. **

Past Stories:

Brenna had already made up her mind that she and Alice were long due for a chat about her father. After the encounter that she, Sherlock and John had had at the pool with Moriarty, she had gone to Alice to tell her about it. At the time, she had already begun to suspect that there was more to her father's death than she had previously thought. She had known that Alice was hiding something from her. What she had not known was that her father just might be alive. She couldn't help but start to wonder if Alice had known that as well, and if she did, just how long she had known it.

Since that day, Brenna hadn't brought up the subject again. She hadn't wanted to do so until she had a little more information. Now, with the new evidence that she was beginning to gather, she wanted to see if she could get Alice to reveal a little more.

When she got to the Yard that morning, she was relieved to see that there were no pressing cases which would have distracted herself or Alice. Alice was already in her office, when Brenna went up to the door and said, "Hey, Alice, can I talk to you for a moment, in private?"

"Sure, Brenna. Come in. I need a distraction anyway." Alice motioned her to come in and to close the door behind her. As Brenna sat down in the chair opposite, she continued, "You might be interested in knowing that I am working on your current progress report."

Brenna made a sour face. Every month, Alice was required to file a progress report with the Chief Inspector. It was to be expected, and Brenna might not have minded, had not the Chief Inspector felt a need to nitpick over nearly every single one of the reports. It seemed that he always found something to object to. It was tiring, especially when she and Alice achieved such a high clearance rate working together, and she had been a model of the work release program. Okay, she had fudged some of the edges a little bit, but she had never actually broken the rules.

"Oh, joy. I don't envy you that morning's work."

"Don't worry; I'm putting in more than a few good words about you. Anyway, I'm glad that you came in. I have something of a private nature that I wish to discuss with you, as well."

"Who goes first?"

"You, since you're the consultant."

"Okay." Brenna took a deep breath and said, "Look, Alice, you remember a few months ago when Moriarty revealed himself to Sherlock?"

"It would be difficult for me to forget that. Why? He hasn't tried to contact either of you against, has he?"

"No, nothing like that. But, Alice, I still can't get what he said out of my mind. If Moriarty was the one who really killed my father, than I think I'm in a place where I am ready to know some more. You said that you would be on the lookout for any sort of information. I was just wondering if you happened to have found out anything more."

Brenna stopped and looked at Alice closely, trying to see how she would react. Alice had grown more uncomfortable throughout her speech. Oh, she hid it very well. But Brenna could see the slight tightening of her fist on the desk, the nervous drumming of her finger on the other. She saw the corners of her eyes and mouth tighten a little bit. Her expression, though still serious, seemed almost troubled. Did that come from concern for Brenna's plight or because she was dancing around the corners of a secret that she wasn't supposed to know? Either way, it seemed that Alice was more than a little jumpy about this subject, even after four months.

"Look, Brenna, I can't imagine what you must be going through. I know that you want answers. Hell, so would I in your situation. But this Moriarty character, whoever he is, is still as much of a mystery to you as he is to me. We just don't know that much about him."

"But, you must know something?" Brenna persisted. She didn't care if she pushed the boundaries a little. She wasn't leaving until she knew for sure if Alice was truly lying to her. "What would a shadowy criminal mastermind want with someone like my dad, even to the point of killing him and making it look like an accident."

Alice stared at Brenna for a very long time, and Brenna got the feeling that she was trying to decide something important. For a moment, she wondered if Alice would turn her away again. But, then she said, "All right, what we have isn't much, but I suppose I can let you in on some of our initial findings. When you, Sherlock and John first met him, Lestrade and I got in touch with some other police forces in Britain. We discovered that Moriarty is from Ireland. Crimes there seem to match the MO of others that Moriarty has committed in the past. We believe that is where he may have gotten his start, in the Irish mob."

"That would explain where he gets his money from." Said Brenna.

Alice nodded. "In the past ten years, Moriarty seems to have grown beyond that. He doesn't seem to owe allegiance to any of the Irish mobs, or really anyone for that matter. He just, well, he seems to engage in freelancing, for lack of a better term."

"Sherlock did call Moriarty a consulting criminal. That part seems to fit, at least." A realization suddenly sparked in her mind, and she felt her mouth drop open in shock. "Wait, my father was the head investigator of the gang unit on the Dublin Police force. He even investigated the Irish mob a few times. You don't think that-"

Alice nodded soberly. "That's a current working theory. It's possible that your father got to close to something that Moriarty was investigating, and he had him killed to keep him quiet."

Brenna was silent, as she tried to process this latest revelation. If her father had been investigating Moriarty, or at least, something connected with him, maybe that was the next piece of the puzzle. Perhaps, if she could find out what her father had been looking into around the time of his death, she would be one step closer to finding out what happened to him. Of course, that would take a little bit of doing, but it was still a place to start.

"Brenna." She jumped, realizing with some embarrassment, that she might have been silent a little too long. Alice was looking at her in a pointed manner. "Are you all right?"

Not for the first time, Brenna was glad that Alice wasn't psychic. "Me? Yeah, of course."

"You're not going to get all broody about this, are you? That won't do anyone any good."

"No, I won't. I promise." That wasn't a lie, she thought. There was certainly a difference between brooding and doing what she intended to do, which was some snooping.

"Good. I wish that I could tell you more, but to be quite honest, it's a unique case."

Alice was still hiding something from her, Brenna was sure of it. But she could let the matter of her father slide for now. She had gotten a lot more than she had been hoping for.

"Well, thank you." said Brenna, "If you find out anything else, please let me know. Now, I'm almost afraid to ask, but what exactly did you want to ask me."

"To put it bluntly then, you've been acting strangely the past few days, Brenna. You've been disturbed about something ever since we had that meeting with Mr. Holmes at Buckingham Palace."

"Am I that transparent? I must be losing my touch if you can see through me so easily."

"I'm sure that it's only me, don't worry. However, even I can only get so much from your outward behavior. So, I had to do a little digging. I did a little research about where you went to Uni in Ireland. It seems that you were able to get yourself inducted into their Arts Honors Society during your first semester, quite a feat. But, someone else was there at the same time. A woman named Irene Adler. It seems that the two of you disappeared about 2 years into your education. If my math is correct, that would be about 18 months before your official career as a white collar criminal began. I can only assume that during that time, you must been doing some training. And that Irene had something to do with it."

"You would be correct." Said Brenna, after a long moment of silence. "In fact, she helped to make me who I am."

"And? You honestly expect me to let you just leave it there? You hold Shane up to a position of respect, yet something about this Irene Adler sets you completely on edge. What happened?"

Brenna would have liked to answer, but she couldn't help but pause first. "Alice, I would love to answer you. But I would like to know that what I have to say won't be used against me at some point in the future."

Alice quirked a smile. "Let's say that we're doing this as part of a therapy session. It will look good in my report."

"You say that I have therapy in your reports?"

"With the relationship you have with Sherlock, I'm surprised that you haven't needed it. But don't worry. Whatever you have to say will be safe with me."

"I suppose that will have to be good enough for me. Well, to start at the beginning. Irene was one of the first people that I thought could be considered my friend at University."

"What was she like?"

Brenna shook her head. "Mere words cannot describe Irene. Even then, she had a magnetism about her which was difficult to resist. You know that she's trouble the first time you see her, but you still go along with everything she says."

"A femme fatale, eh?"

"That's an understatement. To this day, I don't know why she took a shine to me. She might have just been using me for as long as she could or she genuinely saw potential that she wanted to nurture. At the time, I was too dazzled by her to question it."

"You don't mean, that you two were…" Brenna looked at her. "Hey, all reports say that she's a lesbian, or bisexual of something. I was just wondering."

"Well, the plain answer is no. Irene and I were never involved. Not in that way, anyway. But I still was so fascinated by her. I had never met anyone like her, and she was everything that I wanted to be: beautiful, sophisticated, glamorous. Irene opened up a world to me that I had only dreamed of before."

"Is that how it all began?"

"If only it had stopped there. Irene taught me how to move, dress and speak in such a way that I would always have a reliable weapon when it came to looking after myself. She taught me how to lie convincingly. More than anything else, she planted ideas in my head that I somehow deserved more, and that if I wanted something, I should let nothing stand in the way of getting it."

"Those can be dangerous thoughts, especially for someone not mature enough to handle them."

"I know, and I wasn't mature. After my second year at University, I found out that there was a good chance that I would have to stop going to school, because there wasn't enough money to pay for it. I suppose that's what really served to push me over the edge. I was the youngest of four, and it seemed that all my sisters had gotten to pursue what they wanted, but I couldn't count on my own family when it came to my own dreams, especially since art and music wasn't necessarily the first thing they had thought of for my future. But Irene offered me a way out."

"She convinced you to steal something, didn't she?"

Brenna nodded. "We hit a shipment of raw cut diamonds from a shipyard. It was simple, and one box I was sure wouldn't be missed. It was the first time that I had ever stepped over the line, and I loved it. It was my first taste of the white collar world; one taste was all that it took.

"We sold the diamonds through a fence that Irene said she knew in London, Shane Mastersen. That's how I first came in contact with him. He had already taught Irene a few things, and he was impressed with us."

"And your parents didn't think to ask where you had gotten the extra money?"

"I told them that I had won a scholarship that awarded students mid-term. It wasn't easy lying to them, my dad especially. I just ended up telling myself that I really wasn't hurting anyone by my actions."

"So, you had your first successful heist. But, only a month after that, you vanished completely. What happened?"

"You know how meth addicts need only one or two hits to become addicted? That's what happened with me. One heist wasn't enough for me, not when other opportunities presented themselves. Shane thought that I had a gift. He offered to take both me and Irene on a heist which he was planning in Florence. It would have required a noticeable absence from Uni, and I knew that my parents would question it, but I couldn't help myself. Now, as I look back on it, I don't know if I can justify my actions."

"So, you and Irene went to Florence with Shane?"

Brenna nodded. "It was my first real taste into the world of art crime, and I loved every moment of it. It was exciting and challenging, everything that my life hadn't been up until that point. But it was also during that time when Irene and I began to grow apart. Shane was more taken with my skills than with hers', and I think that she resented it. He told me later it was because he saw more of the true thief in me. I think he saw the danger of Irene's self-centeredness before I was even aware of it."

"Sounds like she was acquiring skills of a different sort during your time together. What went wrong?"

"She tried to betray Shane. She told me that we should pin the blame for the entire heist on him and the two of us would get away with the spoils. She thought that I would agree without even hesitating. She was counting on the fact that I was totally in thrall of her. I refused to go along with it. Shane had taught me the thief's code. I wasn't going to sell him out, not after he had taught me so much."

"I can imagine that didn't make Irene to happy."

"It didn't. She told me that if I didn't help her, she would make sure that my family knew what I had started to do. She would make it impossible for me to go home. She convinced me that I couldn't go home, so I guess I just never tried."

"Well, you obviously didn't go along with it, did you?"

"No, Shane and I left Irene in Florence after I told him what she was planning to do. If I couldn't go back to my family, I would protect the one that I still had. Irene made good on her threat, and she arranged for my family to find out about my criminal record. I wouldn't be surprised if it were her anonymous tips that that put you on my trail."

"And after all this, you and Shane traveled around the continent for the next year, and you learned your craft from him. You struck out on your own when he felt you were ready. And Irene? What happened to her?"

Brenna shrugged. "She got around, like me. I've heard of her, of course. A dominatrix like her quickly gains a reputation in certain circles. I've not seen her since we left her in Florence though. I don't really think that she would be all that pleased to see me, though. She doesn't forgive or forget so easily."

"That would explain why you became so agitated when Mycroft showed you those pictures." Said Alice, "Do you think that she's back in London for you specifically?"

"Irene has been in London several times, when I've been here. Quite honestly, I don't know if those visits have anything to do with me."

"Well, I doubt she'll be sticking around in London for very long. From what I hear from Lestrade it sounds like she's got some pretty powerful people coming for her."

"I hope you're right."

"But, if she does make any sort of contact with you, tell me about it, all right? Irene Adler won't be a problem for you again."

Brenna smiled. "Thank you, Alice, for listening. You're… You're a good friend." She got to her feet. "Well, I suppose that I should let you get back to your report. Be sure to put in a few good words for me."

"I always do. Oh, and Brenna," Brenna stopped and looked back at her, "Thanks for telling me that. I'm glad to know that you trust me."

"Same to you, Alice, same to you."

* * *

**Please read and review. **

**Next chapter: It is always difficult to predict how the mind of a woman will react in any given situation. When that same woman is a clever and cunning dominatrix, that can be even more unpredictable. When Irene Adler meets Sherlock Holmes, some hungers are aroused which can only be satisfied by total possession.**


	9. The Meeting

**I have been aiming for a different direction than my original idea. I may not necessarily like Irene as a romantic interest for Sherlock, but I do have fun writing villains, and so we are going to be taking a few trips into the disturbing realm of the mind of Irene Adler, this being one of the first. I hope that you enjoy it.**

The Meeting:

Irene Adler had thought that she would know what to expect when Sherlock Holmes knocked on her door. All men, no matter how much they might have protested against it, were the same deep down. All previous experiences had taught her this, and it did not seem likely that Mr. Holmes would be all that different in the end.

At first, it had gone precisely how she thought it would. Her "battle dress" effectively shocked him into silence, leaving her free to expose his rather flimsy disguise. Even had she not been warned that he was going to pay her visit, she would have been able to see right through him. Holmes simply did not have the demeanor to be a clergyman. She did give him some credit. He simply accepted that his disguise had been exposed, no fighting or ridiculous posturing. Merely a frank acknowledgement that the rules had changed.

His friend, John Watson, did not take the fact that she was naked quite so calmly. When he arrived in the room with a bowl of water and a napkin, presumably to treat Sherlock's injuries, he was struck nearly speechless by shock, and was left desperately trying to find anywhere to look beyond Irene's attractive nude form.

As for Sherlock, he had finally regained control of his surprise of Irene actually presenting a challenge to him, and was now staring at her, and she allowed herself more than a little enjoyment as she saw his expression grow increasingly bewildered and confused. He couldn't deduce her. With that being his primary strength in trying to make it thought this twisted game of life, suddenly deprived of it, he would be helpless. She had the control. And she loved it.

This was what she lived for, after all: control. It was all about control and how one used it. She was always the one who held that control. She would never risk it any other way.

"You knew the big problem with a disguise, Mr. Holmes?" She questioned, as she was sure that he could gain no more from staring. "No matter how hard you try, it's always a self portrait."

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" he questioned.

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In this case, it's yourself." She leaned forward slightly, studying him with glittering eyes and a cat-like smile. "And somebody loves you. Though, I wonder if your little thief pet were the one who had been punching you, she would have avoided your nose and face, too."

Sherlock visibly tensed when she mentioned Brenna like that, and she saw his eyes flash momentarily with cold ice. It was in an instant, and he hid his feelings well. But it was still enough for her to see that Brenna had this detective wrapped around her little finger. How very fascinating.

"You know Brenna?" said John, with surprise. Sherlock shot a glare in his friend's direction, obviously miffed that John had been so stupid as to confirm that little detail.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Got our start in the business together, so to speak. Did you happen to know that she was offered the chance to pay me a visit before you two accepted the offer? I'm almost sorry she didn't. We had so much to catch up on."

"Maybe she had her own reasons for wanting to avoid you." said Sherlock.

"Maybe. We did part well. I'm afraid. But, I can't say that I came out on the short end. I think I prefer your company of her's."

She knew that she had won the first round. However, it soon became obvious that Sherlock was extraordinarily adaptable. Irene got her first clue that the great detective was indeed worthy of his title and praise when it became evident he would not fall for the lure of the flesh. That threw her for a moment. The power she got out of the battle dress was because she was so confident in exposing everything; in doing so, she revealed nothing. It was those who scrambled not to be exposed that revealed the most.

Sherlock did not. He steadfastly refused to look her way once he found he could deduce nothing further from her. Even when he did look at her, it was with a clinical coldness that betrayed no hint of arousal. This was more than wanting to honor some silly vow of fidelity to one woman. It was simply who he was.

Fine, that strategy defeated, she would prove to herself to be just as clever and adaptable. When he handed her his coat, she took it and put it on for the sake on convenience.

She casually brought up the murder of the hiker and the backfire, the case that she knew Sherlock had been investigating earlier that morning. She got some satisfaction out of the fact that this seemed to slip him up further. That case hadn't been on the news yet, and the fact that she knew about it caught John's attention. When he attempted to flirt with her, this brought Sherlock back into the conversation. Apparently, Sherlock couldn't stand not being the center of attention, and he couldn't resist a challenging puzzle, a fact that she would remember for the future.

But, when he started to explain the details in the case, Irene soon began to find herself most unexpectedly interested. "Position relative to the car at the time of the backfire. That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know."

The way he looked at her as he paced slowly up and down the room was clearly expectant, as though he expected her to fill in the blanks. "Okay tell me: how was he murdered?"

"He wasn't."

The tone of his voice was so confident and assured that Irene asked him again, "You don't think it was murder?"

"I know it wasn't."

Again, that same breezy confidence. She knew that he could only have been on this case little less than a day. How could he even suspect that it wasn't murder? "How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsman recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs I'm looking for are in this room."

Irene stared at him. How could he possibly know that? She had given no indication of that. Had she? "Okay, but how?"

Sherlock turned to spear her with his penetrating gaze, and he smirked at her triumphantly. "So, they _are_ in this room. Thank you. John, man the door, let no one in."

Irene cursed herself for walking straight into Sherlock's trap. He had bested her and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if she had lost control of this meeting. She knew, from all she had heard, that Sherlock Holmes was not one to give up. If he found that phone, than she was lost.

John got up from the couch, and went into the hallway, leaving Irene and Sherlock alone. Irene looked at the door suspiciously, before glancing at Sherlock, anxiously awaiting his next move.

However, what he said next, came as nothing short of a surprise to her. "Two men alone in the countryside, several yards apart, and one car." Sherlock had started to pace again.

Irene stared at him, having been thrown off-guard by his actions. Much as she hated to admit it, she was now the one who needed to wait for the chance to make her next move. "Oh, I-I thought you were looking for the photos now."

"No, no." said Sherlock, airily, "Looking takes ages. I'm just going to find them, but you're moderately clever and we've got a moment, so let's pass the time." He continued, describing the crime scene of the unfortunate hiker mere moments before he met his end. "Two men, a car, and nobody else. The driver's trying to fix the engine. Getting nowhere. And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky. Watching the birds?" It was clear from the expression on his face that Sherlock thought this doubtful. "Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?"

She couldn't see the need for this question. Wasn't the answer quite obvious? "The hiker's going to die."

"No," snapped Sherlock, impatiently, "that's the result. What's gonna happen?"

"I don't understand." Said Irene, almost reluctant to admit it.

"Oh, well, try to."

"Why?"

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression." Sherlock stated, making no attempt to his disdain, "Stop boring me and think. It's the new sexy."

Irene got the feeling that Sherlock was trying to dare her. And she wanted to pass that dare. It would mean that she was just as good as Sherlock Holmes. Irene had not expected this to happen. She had not expected to see Sherlock quite this way. She thought that it would be a relatively simple affair of outwitting him and getting away clean. But that's not what was happening. She was being challenged, by a man who she was no forced to admit, was unlike she had ever met.

The praise which she had heard of him from so many sources was not exaggerated. Mr. Holmes was not like other men, or other people for that matter. He saw the world in what was clearly his own way. He was one of the few who she might have said could be smart as her.

This small thought planted a seed inside her mind, one which would not become clear even to her until much later. It would awake a hunger inside her to control Sherlock Holmes. What must it be like to control him so completely? To have him on his knees, to hear him beg, and then be able to walk away without doing anything to satisfy him?

It was not about the sex (though even she found herself wondering what that would be like). Not all forms of control came from the physical. For Sherlock Holmes, it would be all about the mind. It would be a challenge. But if there was anything that she loved about her particular line of work, it was a challenge.

"The car's going to backfire." Said Irene, trying to think like the man in front of her, and finding it to be a rather difficult, if not impossible task.

"There's going to be a loud noise."

"So, what?"

"Oh, noises are important." Said Sherlock, knowingly, "Noises can tell you everything, for instance…"

The conversation was suddenly cut short by the loud beeping of the smoke alarm. The noise caused Irene to jump. Instinctively, she looked at the mirror above the fire place, calculating how she could best past Sherlock, get her phone from the safe and make a quick get away.

Only at the last moment, she realized that she had fallen into yet another trap. Sherlock followed her gaze and again, that smug look appeared on his face. "Thank you. On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes our priorities."

He walked over to the fireplace, and ran his hands over the mantelpiece. In no time, his fingers found the hidden switch and pressed it. The mirror slid upwards, revealing the wall safe behind it. Sherlock turned to look around at her, just as she was standing up, a shiver of anxiety up her spine. "Really hope you don't have a baby in here." He raised his voice, shouting to John out in the hall, where he must have somehow set off the smoke alarm. "Okay, John, you can turn it off now." A few seconds passed, and when the smoke alarm continued it's annoying beeping, Sherlock shouted louder, "I said you can turn it off."

When silence descended on the little room once more. Sherlock began studying the number pad on the safe closely. "I almost wish that I had brought Brenna along for this." He said, almost conversationally, and no doubt brining Brenna's name into this conversation just to annoy her. "She would no doubt be able to open this safe with very little trouble. Good thing I've learned a few things from her. For example, did you know that you should always wear gloves when you operate these things? Heaviest oil deposits always on the first key used. That's clearly the three. But after that, the sequence is almost impossible to read. I'd say from the make that it's a six digit code. Can't be your birthday, no disrespect by clearly you were born in the eighties, the eight's barely used."

Irene had regained her self-confidence by the time. She could still turn this around. If Sherlock couldn't open the safe, she was in no danger. She also wondered, if he could so accurately recreate the minute details of a crime scene from memory, what might he do with something that was right in front of him?

"I'd tell you the code right now, but you know what? I already have." She felt satisfaction when he frowned at her, clearly not knowing what she was referring to. She wondered how it must feel to him to have the dare raised to him now. "Think."

What Sherlock might have said to this, she never found out. The CIA men who had been tracking her suddenly burst into the room, with guns drawn and murderous expressions on their faces. It seemed that the game begun between the two of them had just increased in stakes.

* * *

Irene had to give him credit. He had been paying attention to her. Even with a gun pointed at him, and the threat of his best friends' life hanging over him, Sherlock Holmes had risen to the occasion. Where many other people might have found it difficult to focus under so much stress, he had seemed to become even more focused, picking up on the little signals which she had thrown him. He had guessed not only the key code to her safe, but also the fact that it was booby trapped.

However, their little truce, made out of the necessity of survival, seemed to abruptly end when that danger was passed. With the agents disposed (one of them being dead from the gun she had rigged inside the safe), and with Sherlock and Dr. Watson out of the room, Irene wasted no time in hurrying to the safe, and checking it. It was empty. Sherlock wouldn't give it back, even when she told him that the camera phone was literally her life. However, he seemed to know the secrets which she kept on there were more than just pictures made of some illicit meeting. That made it all the more valuable.

Fine then, if Sherlock Holmes wanted to play dirty, than she would oblige. It just so happened that playing dirty was something that she happened to be very good at.

She followed him up to the bedroom, where an open window in the bathroom and an unconscious maid lying on the floor gave a clear indication of how the CIA agents got in. She sent Watson to the back door, leaving her and Sherlock alone. She took the opportunity to go to the dresser, open one of its doors and take out a syringe. Sherlock was to busy fiddling with the camera phone to even notice her actions.

"You're very calm." He commented. She looked around at him. "Well, you're booby trap did just kill a man."

"He would have killed me." She said, airily, as she came over to him, "It was self defense in advance. She reached a hand out to stroke his left arm, distracting him when he looked down, clearly questioning her actions. She stepped around him and stabbed the syringe into his upper arm. Almost at once, the drug caused a reaction in Sherlock's system.

He turned around, trying to get the syringe out of his arm. However, his equilibrium was already becoming unsteady. "What? What is that? What?'

His face turned towards her again, and she delivered a hard slap to his face. That felt good. It felt even better to see him stumble back, falling to the floor. She held out her hand to him, her tone cold and demanding. "Give it to me now. Give it to me."

She could tell from his unfocused gaze and jerky movements that the drug was taking control of his entire body. However, an inner strain of stubbornness meant that he wouldn't be backing down quite so easily.

"No." he said, his voice think and sluggish.

"Give it to me." She insisted.

Sherlock had begun to lose control of his muscles; he clumped into the floor, his hands and knees barely keeping him upright. "No."

"Oh, for goodness sake." The really clever ones never knew when to quite. She picked up the riding crop from a nearby table, threatening him wit it. "Drop it." Sherlock was still struggling to resist the drug's effects, but in this case, Irene was far more skilled and ruthless. In the realm of persuasion and power, there were two roads to be taken: pleasure and pain. Irene knew how to administer both to devastating effect.

Irene took the riding crop to Sherlock's face, beating him ruthlessly, adding an extra sting to her words. "I… said… drop it." With each strike, she felt the rush of control that came whenever she used this tool of his trade. This time, it was even more immensely satisfying to see Sherlock wince and thrash helplessly against her onslaught.

And again, she felt that new stirring and hunger, to possess and control this man. Her original plan had just been to get him to lay off on the photos stored in her phone. But their encounter had made her wonder if she might not have a further use for him.

Sherlock Holmes was the boyfriend of Brenna Ryan, after all. What greater pain would there be for her former rival if she knew that she had Sherlock irrevocably under her control? Such revenge would be quite sweet.

But those were thoughts for another time. As Sherlock finally fell to the floor and lost his grip on the phone, she picked it up a smug air of triumph. "Ah, thank you, dear. Now tell that sweet little posh thing that the pictures are safe with me. They're not for blackmail, just for insurance. Besides, I might want to see her again."

Sherlock, almost totally under the influence of the drug, still struggled weakly to rise to his feet, but she easily forced him back down with the end of her riding crop. "Oh, no, no, no. It's been a pleasure. Don't spoil it." She stroked the contours of her face gently, a new plan forming in her mind, one that put Sherlock Holmes in this exact same position whenever she wanted. "This is how I want you to remember me: the woman who beat you. Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Do give my love to Brenna. Tell her I'll be seeing her very soon."

And so ended the first round between Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. But Irene was determined that it would not be the last. In fact, in her mind, the game was only just beginning.

* * *

**Please read and review.**


	10. Old Friends and Associates

**I forgot to mention in my last chapter that I am using a wonderful script of A Scandal in Belgravia, created by Ariane DeVere. A link to the website where you can find is included below. Just type in the address minus the spaces. I would highly recommend checking it out, even if it's not for the purposes of fan fiction. It's very well written. **

ariane devere . live journal 26320 . html

**Enjoy the chapter! **

Old Friends and Associates:

Alice had been keeping an eye on Brenna that entire day. When she had come into the office and started asking questions about Olivier, she had known that something was up. Brenna had been tricky, and had only pressed for as much information as she knew that she could get. Alice was no fool. She had been suspecting for some time that Brenna had been investigating the mysterious circumstances surrounding her father's death, but she had been biding her time to wait for the right chance to ask for more information. Something must have set her off.

She watched as Brenna finally got around to seeing the video of Sherlock Holmes that Lestrade had almost too gleefully e-mailed to almost everyone on the force. Apparently, it was of him being drugged after a case grown wrong. He was like a drunken man, stammering words that made no sense, and bumping into walls without the help of John. She had a sneaking suspicion that Brenna would be the only one who did not find it funny. She was right when she saw the concern rising on her face and then rush out a few seconds later.

Alice heaved a deep sigh as Brenna vanished through the doors of the White Collar unit. She had been secretly dreading this for quite some time. She should have known that Brenna wouldn't let the matter rest. When it came to her father, she wouldn't be playing by the rules.

She knew that Shane Mastersen had somehow managed to get his hands on some flies regarding Olivier's death that should have been sealed. If Brenna's curiosity was peaked at all by anything she had been told that morning, she would start to dig even deeper. Alice trusted Brenna, but just not on this. If she realized the depths of the deception which (however necessary) was being played around her. There was a good chance that she would break. Alice needed to make sure that did not happen.

With a great deal of reluctance, she pulled out her phone and called Mycroft. Even despite the somewhat late hour, he responded immediately. "Inspector Bennett, to what do I owe the honor of this communication?"

"Brenna was in my office today. She was asking some pretty pointed questions about her father."

"What a pity. I had been hoping that her silence on this matter was indicative that she had given up on the subject."

"If you really think that Brenna up would give up on something like this so easily, then you obviously do not know her at all. I tried to be vague, but she may still have heard something that peaked her interest."

"I'll look into throwing a few roadblocks in her way, things which might throw her off the scent."

"Have you heard at all from Olivier?"

"He is back in contact, but his communications are still sporadic. He managed to get us the critical information of the bombing on the German plane. But he has remained silent ever since."

"That must mean that whoever exposed him is still out there, and could be snooping for more information about him."

"And until we know for certain who that is, we won't be hearing anything from Olivier, at least not as regularly as I'm sure we'd like. If you hear anything else on Brenna's part, let me know."

Alice took a deep breath, and said, "I will." She hated having to dance to Mycroft's tune, but she knew that there was still danger to Brenna's life. She still had a promise that she needed to keep.

* * *

When Brenna arrived at Baker St., John was in the living room, reading. "Brenna, what are you ding here?" He asked, when she came into the room.

"I heard about Sherlock at the station. Is he all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Just drugged and knocked out, but he should be fine by morning."

"What on earth happened, John? How was he drugged?"

John shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Ah, right. Well that might take some explaining. See, after you left this morning, we were recruited by Mycroft by anonymous client-"

"Who took you to Buckingham Palace and asked to recover some questionable photographs from a woman named Irene Adler."

For a moment, John stared at her. "So, she was telling the truth when she said she knew you?"

"Oh, did she mention me?"

"Yeah, a few times. She said that you had a history together."

"Yes, a lot of history. Is she the one who drugged Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded. "Let's just say that Sherlock found the photos, Irene drugged him to get them back and got away."

"That sounds like her." She looked closely at John and said, "Tell me, John, did anything happen that you don't necessarily want to tell me?"

John shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Well, when we met her, Brenna, she wasn't exactly clothed."

"You mean, she was naked?" John nodded, bracing himself for a storm. However, he was stunned when he heard her laugh and she shook her head. "Well, she wasn't changed at all then, I see."

"You're awfully understanding."

"John, should I be otherwise? Trust me, when it comes to Irene, I know a few things. Besides, there's no way Sherlock could have predicted it. Getting mad at him for something he had no control over would be childish."

"I see, I suppose."

Their conversation was interrupted suddenly by a loud voice calling from the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. "John… John!"

It was Sherlock and he sounded… odd. The two of them got up and hurried into the bedroom. John opened the door just in time to see Sherlock falling head over heels over the foot of his bed and onto the floor. It was almost humorous, and she might have burst out laughing, except for the fact that Sherlock still seemed drugged out of his mind.

"You okay?" John asked, after a moment.

"How did I get here?" Sherlock asked, obviously still confused.

"Well, I don't suppose that you remember much, you weren't making a lot of sense. Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone."

"He did. That's why I'm here. I figure that it will be viral by tomorrow."

When he heard her voice, Sherlock's blurry gaze turned on her. "Brenna, what are you doing here? I thought you were in the field."

Brenna stared at Sherlock. "Field? What field?"

"Yes, the field." Said Sherlock, as though it should have been obvious. "The field with the hiker and boomerang. You were arguing with her."

"With who?"

Sherlock looked around the room, ignoring Brenna's question. "Where is she?"

"Where's who?" John asked, by this point, as confused as Brenna.

"The woman. That woman."

"What woman."

"_The_ woman." Sherlock insisted, as he continued stumbling around the room like a drunken money. "The woman woman."

"Oh, Irene Adler. She got away. No one saw her." Sherlock staggered over to the window, to look outside. "She wasn't here, Sherlock." In turning around to address John, Sherlock once more fell to the ground, and started to drag himself across the floor. "What are you…? What…? No, no, no, no."

"I think someone needs to go back to bed." Said Brenna, as the two of them together hauled Sherlock up to his feet and dropped him face-down on the bed.

"You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep." Said John, as he covered Sherlock with a sheet.

Sherlock's voice was starting to succumb once more to unconsciousness. His voice was becoming more slurred. "Of course I'll be fine. I am fine. I'm absolutely fine."

Brenna rolled her eyes when she heard this. "Well, I think we can rule out his ego being permanently bruised."

"As usual, we agree on that point. You hear that, Sherlock, we both think you're great. Now I'll be next door if you need me."

"Why would I need you?" Sherlock asked, though he seemed to instantly relax into the mattress when he heard this, as though the thought that John would be in hearing range made him feel better.

"No reason at all." Said John, as he and Brenna left Sherlock alone in his room.

"What was that all about?" Brenna asked.

"Must have been having some sort of dream." Said John, "You think that was bad, you should have seen him earlier. He was making even less sense earlier."

"Are you sure that he'll be all right?"

"Yes, I think so. I was able to get a look at the syringe that she used. It was anything that could cause any permanent damage."

"Well, that's a good thing to know. I think that I'm going to stay with him tonight, make sure that he doesn't try anything stupid, like climbing out the window to see if he can fly."

"Would you? I'd be grateful. Sherlock is my friend, but I draw the line at sleeping in the same bed with him to make sure he's all right."

Brenna smirked at that, and went back into the bedroom. She found that Sherlock was sitting up in bed, that bemused, befuddled look still on his face. He looked almost adorable, but for the fact that she was still a little worried about him. What struck her as most strange was the fact that he was holding his phone and staring at it with a blurry-eyed expression. "Sherlock, remember what John said about going to bed?" She said, as she sat down beside him. Sherlock mumbled something, but it was clear that he really didn't know what he was saying. In fact, within a few minutes, he was pillowed against Brenna's chest, sound asleep. She rearranged him a little bit, so that he was lying comfortably on the bed.

In doing this, she happened to notice the message on his phone screen. **Until next time, Mr. Holmes**. Her eyebrows furrowed, a little confused. That message could only be from one person. "What are you playing at now, Irene?"

* * *

The next morning, things seemed to be back to normal, at least as normal as things ever were around Baker St. Mrs. Hudson insisted on making breakfast for all three of them. However much she continued to say that she was not their housekeeper, she could still go into full mothering mode when a situation called for it.

Sherlock himself did not seem any the worse for wear, aside from the red welt on his face from where John had punched him the other day, Brenna personally thought it was hilarious that Sherlock hadn't even managed to break John's skin, and had even ended up in a chokehold. Sherlock found it to be less than amusing.

Before Brenna could ask about their visit to Irene, who should come around to give them indigestion but Mycroft. He was none to pleased with the fact that Sherlock had singularly failed to get the photographs. Sherlock responded with his usual airy disdain.

"The photographs are perfectly safe." He said, in response to Mycroft's accusations.

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker." Finished Mycroft, sarcastically.

"She's not interested in blackmail." Sherlock insisted. "She wants protection for some reason."

"It's the way that Irene Adler operates." Said Brenna, "She needs that back-up in the line of work she's in."

"And I find it very interesting that you didn't mention that little detail at our meeting, Brenna." said Mycroft.

"And I'm wondering about the wisdom of sending in your brother to do the job." Retorted Brenna.

"You said to pick someone whom I trusted, Brenna."

"Either it makes little difference now, doesn't it?" said Sherlock, "I take it that you stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs? Our hands are tied."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "She'd applaud your choice of words. You see how this works: that camera is her get out of jail free card. You have to leave her alone. Treat her like royalty, Mycroft."

"Though not the way she treats royalty." Said John, with an almost gleeful smile.

"Thank you for putting the image on a dominatrix Mycroft in my head, John. I'm fairly certain that I'll be having nightmares for the rest of the month."

Sherlock and John tried in vain to hide their amused smiles, while Mycroft returned with a humorless smile of his own. However, before he could make any sort of condescending remark, a very loud, very orgasmic female groan filled the room. It caught the attention of everyone, including Brenna.

"What was that?" said John.

The only person who didn't seem surprised by the noise was Sherlock himself. "Text." He got to his feet to cross the room and pick up his phone.

While he was doing this, John asked, "But what was that noise?"

"The noise of a female in the throes of sexual ecstasy?" commented Brenna. When Mycroft and John turned to star at her questioningly, she said, "Why are you looking me at me that way? I'm just as clueless as you are."

Having apparently finished reading the text message, came back over to the table, "Did you know there were other people after her, Mycroft, before you sent John and I in there, CIA trained killers, at an excellent guess." Sherlock's tone was flippant, and yet, it was difficult to miss the slight undercurrent of accusation in his words.

"Yeah, thanks for that, Mycroft." Said John whose tone was a bit more direct in his displeasure.

"The only reason I can forgive you in that you didn't make Brenna go in when you the chance." said Sherlock, "If anything had happened to her, it would be unforgivable."

Mrs. Hudson bustled into the room, placing a breakfast plate in front of Sherlock as she had admonished Mycroft severely. "It's a disgrace sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes."

"Oh, shut up, Mrs. Hudson." Grumbled Mycroft.

He had said exactly the wrong thing. No one insulted Mrs. Hudson and got away with it, not if Sherlock and John had anything to say about it. No sooner were the words of his mouth than both John and Sherlock simultaneously turned on him fiercely. "Mycroft!"

There was a moment of stunned silence on Mycroft's part, as he stared at the angry faces glaring at him. He at least had the decency to appear contrite as he said. "Apologies."

"Thank you." said Mrs. Hudson.

"Though do, in fact, shut up." Said Sherlock, almost at once. Brenna rolled her eyes. Sherlock always seemed to show his affection towards other people by insulting them.

The orgasmic moaning filled the room once more. Mrs. Hudson had been going back into the kitchen, but when she heard the noise, she turned back around. "Oh, it's a bit rude that noise, isn't it?"

Brenna herself looked at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. "Somebody must be pretty desperate to get your attention, Sherlock." She commented.

"There's nothing you can do and nothing she will do as far as I can see." Sherlock stated, as he glanced at the text once more.

"I could put maximum surveillance on her." Mycroft said, not wanting to give up on the case so easily.

"Oh yes, that would be a great help." Said Brenna, "You would know exactly where she is and where the photos are, all the while being unable to make a move to get them. Brilliant use of our nation's resources Mycroft, I can see why they put you in charge."

"She's right, Mycroft. Why bother? You could even follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is 'TheWhipHand.'"

Mycroft regarded Sherlock and Brenna with an expression of extreme disapproval. He no doubt felt like he was the only mature adult in a room full of teenagers. "Yes, most amusing." Mycroft's phone rang, sparing him, for the moment, from more inane chatter. "Excuse me." He walked out of the room into the hallway, speaking quietly into his phone, about something that Brenna didn't doubt was of a highly secretive nature.

With him out of the way, John finally found a moment to ask, "Why does your phone make that noise?"

"What noise?" Sherlock asked, trying to play innocent.

"That noise, the one it just made."

"It's a text alert. It means I've got a text." Said Sherlock, as though it should have been something quite obvious.

"Hmm. Your texts don't normally make that noise."

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalize their text alert noise."

John looked at Brenna with a raised eyebrow. "I have to admit, I'm surprised that you're being as cool about it as you are."

"If they're who I think they're from, I have no reason to worry." Said Brenna, "That is one of the advantages of having Sherlock for a boyfriend. I know that he won't be tempted by ordinary seduction methods."

"Why should it bother her?" Sherlock asked, quite honestly confused, "It's just a noise. It doesn't signify anything."

"I know, Sherlock, but most women would object to it, on nothing else but the principle of the matter."

The orgasmic groaning filled the air again. Poor Mrs. Hudson was nearly at her rope's end. "Could you turn that phone down a bit?" She asked with exasperation. "At my time of life…" She trailed off and shook her head, going back into the kitchen to put more distance between herself and that disconcerting noise.

John, now that he was fairly certain that Brenna wasn't going to bash Sherlock's head in (again, he found himself surprised by how oddly unique their relationship was), he allowed himself to have a little fun. "I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?"

Sherlock had gradually been raising the newspaper he had been reading over his face while John had been talking. "I'll leave you to your deductions."

"Oh, Sherlock, are you embarrassed?" Brenna asked, with a smirk.

"We're not stupid, you know." Said John, mirroring Brenna's smirk.

"Where do you get that idea?" Sherlock asked, off handedly.

"Perhaps by the fact that you keep calling him an idiot every two minutes." Said Brenna.

Sherlock was not given the chance for a snappy retort, as Mycroft came back into the room the next moment, and they all caught the tale end of his conversation. "Bond Air is go, that's decided. Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later."

This meant nothing to Brenna, but it caught her attention nonetheless, as it seemed to do so with Sherlock. "What else does she have?" When Mycroft looked at him with a questioning expression, Sherlock elaborated on the suspicion which had been eating at him ever since his meeting with Irene. "Irene Adler. The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a few a couple of compromising photographs. There's more." He got to his feet and faced his brother dead on. "Much more."

"For some reason, Sherlock, I begin to wonder if Mycroft might not have had an ulterior motive for sending you to get those photographs." Said Brenna, as she also got to her feet. "You may not be aware of this, Mycroft, but I happen to know quite a bit about Irene. I even know that she has one fail safe device that she keeps with her at all times, a device that contains a good deal more than embarrassing pictures of the royal family. Might it be possible to have contained something far more valuable, something that you knew would be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands."

Sherlock did not bother to disguise the look of glowing pride he cast in Brenna's direction. "Oh, I do love the way you think, Brenna. She has a very good point, Mycroft. Something big's coming, isn't it?"

For a long moment, Mycroft locked eyes with Sherlock, his eyes developing that hard, set expression he always had when he and Sherlock were at odds. "Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours. From now on, you will stay out of this. " He said, at last. And then he did an unexpected thing when he turned to Brenna and said, in equal tones of warning, "And you, Brenna, I would advise that you not to get yourself involved with ventures that do not concern you. From now on, you will both stay out of this."

"Oh, will we?" Sherlock demanded, in a low voice.

"Yes, Sherlock, you will."

Mycroft's tone left no room for argument or objection. And Sherlock, though one of his favorite hobbies was doing everything in his power to annoy Mycroft to the end of his sanity, was also not stupid. Mycroft wanted him to stay out of it, fine. He would, for awhile. Besides, even he knew when to accept a draw with his brother. It was one of the disadvantages of Mycroft's being more than his equal. Thusly, after a moment or two of continued hard staring, he merely shrugged his shoulders and walked over to his violin.

Mycroft thinking that he had finally gotten Sherlock to listen, if only for a few minutes, became the condescendingly polite government official once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend."

Brenna rolled her eyes at the continued charade of secrecy that Mycroft was attempting to keep up. Anyone with half a brain would have been able to guess who that "old friend" was. Sherlock seemed to pick up on the joke as well. "Do give them my love." He began to play, of all things, _God Save the Queen_. Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's infantile behavior and walked out the door without another word, the tones of Sherlock's instrument following him like a mocking exit march. The whole scene was so perfectly ridiculous that both John and Brenna found it hard to hide their grins until after Mycroft left the room.

"What I wouldn't give to be a fly on for that apology." Said Brenna, with a grin, as she gathered up her things. "I'm sure that it would be something to remember."

"Are you off to work then?" John asked, though he had to do it over the sounds of Sherlock's insistent playing.

"Afraid so. We can't all have the exciting and glamorous life that you and Sherlock lead, encountering a skilled dominatrix, almost getting killed by the CIA and then getting drugged. Honestly, I don't know how you two do it?"

John smiled at her, before he asked, "Look, Brenna, you sure you're not bothered by the fact that Sherlock seems to be getting those texts, are you?"

"Why on earth should she be?" Sherlock said, as he stopped playing his violin and turned his attention to them. "As I said earlier, it's only a noise."

"Sherlock, it's still a rather personal thing. Most women don't like having their partners being contacted by women groaning, especially groaning like that."

"Brenna is more than mature enough to not be bothered by something so ridiculous."

"Look, before you two start fighting about my emotional well-being, which I have to admit is flattering, let me just put it all to rest. John, let me assure you, I am perfectly fine."

Sherlock looked at her, clearly this had captured his attention. "Irene mentioned that she had some sort of history with you."

"Yeah, some rather bad history, and I happen to know that if I were to get angry with you it would only accomplish what Irene wants."

John was aware of the fact that he wouldn't be getting anymore information out of Brenna on that subject. He also knew that Sherlock wouldn't be asking further. Sherlock and Brenna seemed to have some sort of unspoken agreement that they wouldn't discuss their pasts. He had come to respect that, and so he decided to let this issue go for the time being. "I have to commend you on your restraint. Most women wouldn't be so understanding."

"Thanks for the complement, John. But I don't have to worry. I know that you would maim Sherlock if he ever did anything to hurt me."

"Yeah, you're right. I probably would." Said John.

"And besides, I might even be getting a few ideas from those texts, Sherlock."

"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock, who really had no idea what she was referring to.

"Think of it as another part of your ongoing investigation, Sherlock. Texting isn't just an efficient form of communication. It can be used for other purposes. Give me the rest of the day, and I'll show you what I mean."

However Sherlock may have been clueless about sexting, that only lasted until later that evening. After receiving a few suggestive texts from her throughout the day, Sherlock seemed to have more than gotten a hang of the idea.

And it was on that note that Brenna considered the matter with Irene Adler closed for good.

* * *

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	11. The Thief and The Dominatrix

The Thief and The Dominatrix:

Life managed to resume its normal rhythms after the incident with Irene Adler. September moved into October, with nothing to indicate that the drama would be repeated. That was a fact for which Brenna was extremely grateful. Life for her was crazy enough without having to worry about people from her past who, in all likelihood, wanted to kill her.

Unfortunately, Irene Adler had other plans. It was one month later, when their two paths crossed.

Brenna was enjoying a coffee at a sidewalk café. Lily was curled up into a little ball at her feet, tired out after a rigorous game of fetch in one of London's many parks. For Brenna herself, it was a good opportunity to try and capture the spirit of London by looking at the various passersby, capturing the stories of her home city.

But, she did not catch the eye of the one person she should have been on the lookout for. Not until one of the waiters came up to her table, and said, as he set down a plate with a chocolate croissant on it, "Excuse me, Miss, but I believe this is for you."

Brenna looked down around at him, confused. "I didn't order that."

The water grinned at her secretively. "You didn't actually. But she did for you." He surreptitiously pointed across the outdoor café to the pretty face that was smirking across at her knowingly. "Don't look now, but I think you've got an admirer."

Brenna's blood ran cold. She didn't even see the knowing wink on the part of the waiter, who then withdrew and left them alone. Her eyes were fixed upon Irene, as the dominatrix, as always impeccably coiffed, came towards and sat down at her table. "Brenna, so lovely to see you again, after all these years."

Brenna eyed Irene, making no attempt to hide her suspicion. She refused to be intimidated by her anymore. She had come a long way since she had last encountered Irene and she refused to be threatened by her again.

"Irene, I certainly wasn't expecting to have the pleasure of seeing you."

"Were you not? After the events of a month ago, I would have thought you believed this encounter to be inevitable." She gestured to the croissant. "Aren't you going to eat that? I can see from your figure that you still have a certain amount of fondness these little confections."

Brenna beamed her a fake smile. "You know how much I would like to, but I don't really like the idea of being poisoned."

Irene laughed. "Oh, Brenna, you really are quite funny. If I wanted to kill you, do you really think that I would stoop to something so low as poison?"

"I wouldn't put it past you. I know how much you enjoy mixing together concoctions and trying them out on your 'clients'; speaking of which, what exactly was in that little syringe you slipped into my boyfriend's arm?"

"Oh, just a little something to knock him out. Are you really going to harp on that?"

"Seeing as how it almost killed my boyfriend, yeah. I have a little bit of a problem with it."

Irene shrugged. "I'm afraid that he left me no choice, Brenna. He would have taken something that was very valuable to me. I reacted as anyone would have."

"So, you're still only relying on your camera phone as a surefire protection method. That seems to be working very well for you. Tell me, how many other people want to kill you because of the secrets you've stolen?"

Irene's face tightened for just a moment, indicating to Brenna that she seemed to have a hit a nerve. However, her face grew pleasant the next moment. "When I need protection, Brenna, I have the people who are really powerful to protect me, or they know what will happen. Among them are some names that you might recognize. I believe that you know of Jim Moriarty."

Brenna's eyes narrowed, growing hard. "I know that he's a psychopath. I know that he tried to kill me, Sherlock and John. And I know that he killed my father. I really don't need to know anything else to form an opinion of him."

"Well, speaking of that night, do you happen to remember that our life was saved by a timely phone call?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Because I was the one who made it."

Brenna managed to hide her surprise, merely arching one eyebrow. "Really, you? Why ever would you do a thing like that?"

"Oh, Brenna, do you really think that I would let someone else deprive me of the pleasure of ruining you myself?"

"So, you're still carrying that against me, are you?"

"You seem to forget that you and Shane left me in Florence with no name or identity, forcing me to start from scratch." Irene leaned forward, her voice growing cold. "You cannot imagine the humiliating positions I had to put myself in, just so I could survive."

"Yet, you seem to have done quite well for yourself. Let's skip to the chase, shall we? You say that you're the one who stopped Moriarty. Well, it just so happens that he was pretty determined to kill us. What could you possibly have said that would have convinced him to lay off?"

"And what piece of information did you offer?"

"I told Moriarty that your father was alive."

Silence. Brenna felt her pulse suddenly grow faster, her breathing going shallow, and she tightened her hands in fists. She had to call on all her years of deceit to keep her face neutral and calm. But she had not doubt that Irene must have seen how much the news unnerved her.

"My father died, three years ago."

Irene chuckled, "Brenna, do you really want to play this game? I have proof, on my phone. She reached into her purse and withdrew her camera phone. "I can show it to you if you like. It's not that good, but any glimpse of him must be welcome." She handed the phone to Brenna with a knowing smirk.

Brenna slowly took the phone, and glanced at the screen. Sure enough, it was just as Irene said. The screen showed a grainy image of her father. He seemed to have aged more than his three years should have suggested. His hair way greyer than she remembered, and he looked thinner. What really spoke to her were his eyes, that seemed so much sadder than she ever remembered them being.

Brenna's first honest reaction was a burst of joy. She may have known that her father was alive, but actually having proof was quite a different thing. However, that joy lasted only as long as she saw the cat-like smirk on Irene's mouth. She suddenly realized with a jolt of horror that Irene Adler had told Moriarty that her father was alive. And if Moriarty knew that, how much danger was her father in now?

She out the camera phone back on the table, and asked, coldly, "What do you want from me, Irene?"

"Want? From you? Why, nothing, Brenna, at that moment. Now that you mention it, the only thing I want from you is your best game."

"What do you mean?"

"Brenna, do you honestly think that I would simply want to kill you? Of course not. That would be far too simple and not nearly satisfying enough. The reason I came here today is because I just wanted to give you a little heads up. Moriarty knows that your father is alive. Now the next move is up to you."

"Me? What could I possibly have to do with this? Moriarty killed my father once. Now there is nothing to stop him from doing so again."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about _that_, Brenna. There is something, apparently, that he thinks you have and he can't kill Olivier Ryan until he has it." She got to her feet, and looked down at her closely. "I would advise you to think long and hard about that next move you make, Brenna, because Moriarty will take the wrong answer lightly. Think about that, and the next time we meet, I look forward to seeing just how far our places have been reversed."

* * *

Brenna had always been good at keeping secrets. She had been a thief and a con artist; her heist and very often her life could depend on her ability to deceive. She had been good at it. She had enjoyed it. But she had never really been aware just how much damage it had done to her.

But, though she had come back, though she was for all intents and purposes reformed, and habits could still die hard. Whenever Brenna felt threatened or in danger, her first instinct was to lie or twist the truth in some way. She couldn't help this defense mechanism, and it had occurred more than a few times during her time under Alice's supervision. Most of the time, she came clean about deceptions.

However, when it came to Irene, she listened to her darker instincts. She didn't tell Alice that Irene had paid her a visit. Not because she didn't think that Alice wouldn't be able to help her, but because she knew that she would have to tell her what Irene had said about her father.

She found that she didn't trust Alice when it came to that part of her life. Alice was hiding something from her, and if she were to reveal the fact that she now had conclusive proof that her father was alive, there was no telling what Alice would do. She might even make it impossible for Brenna to find the answers which she had become determined to find.

She also didn't tell Sherlock, for what could he do? And besides, if he got a whiff that Moriarty was involved in this, his protective instincts would kick in. Brenna was quire aware that when it came to her own safety, he would go to extreme lengths to ensure it. He might even go so far as to tell Alice what was happening, and she would be back in the same situation that she would be if she told Alice.

She felt guilty having to keep this secret. But, her desire to protect the secret of her father was stronger.

Had she known just what kind of consequences would result from keeping these secrets, she might have chosen a different course of action.

* * *

However much Mycroft Holmes may not have admitted it, a part of him really enjoyed being at home. He had inherited the curious split discipline of being capable of meeting with several very different people in the course of one day and enjoying it, to being just as equally relieved to being quiet at home, with no one but his wife, Marguerite (known to most of the outside world as Anthea Jones).

It was generally an unspoken acceptance amongst those who worked for him that his relationship with Anthea was one of those things that no one commented on or spoke about. Privately in their own thoughts (which Mycroft could not yet control), it was generally acknowledged that his relationship with his PA was a great deal closer than might be expected of two people in their position.

No one, however, save for a very few, knew that the two of them were married. It had had to be kept secret from the knowledge of the outside world. Mycroft and Marguerite had made many enemies over the years, and it was too risky to expose a potential weakness to common knowledge.

It had been a particularly long day. The two of them had been running from meeting to meeting with the heads of different countries, negotiating treaties, preventing disaster, and keeping England's place in the world on an even keel amidst all of the top secret dangers that half of the citizens never even suspected of existing.

They were both exhausted even if in their outward behavior they didn't show it. Mycroft, especially, was feeling the strain. Marguerite knew for a fact that he hadn't slept in nearly two days. Just like his brother, he possessed amazing stamina, being able to go for days without eating or sleeping. The downside was that he never seemed to know when he needed such life essentials, and could quickly end up working himself into a numb state of exhaustion. Marguerite's job was to make sure that didn't happen.

As they came into the palatial mansion that they called home, Marguerite wasted no time in taking out her phone. Mycroft groaned, now that he was inside and away from prying eyes, allowing his real frustration to show. "Marguerite, can't you put that infernal thing down for one moment?" It was far more snappish than he intended it to be, but Marguerite merely shrugged it off. She was one of the few people that Mycroft could be rude to without worrying about losing face. She didn't mind. It gave her a chance to practice getting out her own frustrations on her stubborn idiot of a husband (yes, she had called him that on more than one occasion).

"I'm rearranging some things on your calendar, Mycroft. I'm moving your two morning meetings with the Prime Minister and the Defense Secretary to tomorrow afternoon. You are not leaving this house until you get some rest and a few good meals."

Mycroft glared at her as he took off his suit jacket. "I don't recall giving you permission to do any of that."

Marguerite, the changes made, crossed her arms and said, defiantly, "Actually, you did when you first hired me. You said that my job was to manage your life so you wouldn't have to. That's exactly what I've done every day for the past nine years. Without me to tell you what you have to do on a daily basis, I'm fairly certain that you would be hopelessly lost."

"I would not."

"Really? Then what day of the week is it tomorrow?"

Mycroft opened his mouth, but the blank expression on his face more than confirmed that he did not know the answer. "There, see? I swear, sometimes I don't know whether I'm your wife or your nursemaid."

Mycroft found himself smiling as he put his arms around her to draw her closer to him. "I can promise you that I never treated my nursemaid the way I do you."

Marguerite smirked. "I actually pity the poor woman who was in charge of your nursery."

Mycroft was about to respond, when he suddenly stopped. He inhaled sharply. Immediately, he let go of Marguerite. "Mycroft, what is it?"

"I just heard something in the study."

Marguerite stiffened, and she reached for the gun that was always strapped to her thigh, underneath her skirt. It wasn't just within her job description to be Mycroft's PA. She was also his unofficial, but probably best line of security. But Mycroft stopped her. "No, Marguerite. If that tobacco smoke I'm smelling is any indication, then there is no danger."

Marguerite looked at him questioningly, especially when he moved slowly past her, and down the hall, and opened the door to the main study. There, sitting in an armchair by the fire was a man. He had been smoking an old pipe and seemed to have been lost in thought. However, when he saw Mycroft, he looked up and smiled ironically. "Took you long enough, Mycroft. I thought that I would have to wait all night for you to show up."

Both Mycroft and Marguerite were surprised to see him there. However, Mycroft managed to get his surprise under control after a few seconds. He really should have expected nothing less of this, one of his most valuable and able colleagues. "Olivier, it's been awhile and I can't say I was expecting you for a few more weeks." He turned to Marguerite. "Marguerite, would you be so good as to leave us alone for a few minutes?"

"Of course." Said Marguerite, after a moment. She recognized a covert meeting when she saw one. It was a fact of life that she had come to accept with Mycroft. There were some things that he could not tell even her. "I'll go upstairs then. Don't be to long, Mycroft." In a rare show of affection they were both careful to leave until appropriate times, she gave Mycroft a gentle kiss, which he returned with a surprising among of tenderness.

Only once she was gone did Mycroft close the door to the study, and turn his full attention to the man in front of him.

Anyone who knew Brenna Ryan knew that she had gotten a good deal of her looks from her father. Olivier Ryan possessed the same dark blond hair and bright green eyes. He also had passed on his sarcasm and incredible resourcefulness to her, two qualities which he had made more than good use of, just in a radically different way. However, one could also see that Olivier seemed much older than his age should have made him appear. Lines of worry and stress were evident on his face, and there was a tired look in his eyes which did not come from lack of sleep. Being dead could take a lot out of the hardy constitution. And Olivier had been dead for three years.

Mycroft sat down in the chair opposite of Olivier. Olivier looked him over. "You're looking well. That diet you've been on for the past five years is finally yielding a result."

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, Olivier resembled his daughter to much for his liking. "Thank you for the vote of confidence. However, I highly doubt that you came all the way from the Pakistani border simply to speak of trivial things."

"You're right." Said Olivier, sobering, "I've been monitoring the network in the Middle East. There's going to be another bombing."

This caught Mycroft's attention. Several months before, Oliver had barely gotten word to Mycroft that a terrorist cell in Karachi had developed a new type of bomb for airplanes, nearly undetectable by traditional methods. Using the information that Olivier had been able to smuggle to him, Mycroft had come up with what was a rather ingenious solution. Working with his German allies, the plane had been filled with dead bodies, so that when the bomb exploded, destroying the plane, it would look as though there had been massive casualties. But, in reality, no one would die.

The bomb was still in the planning stages. According to Olivier, it would take them a few more attempts to truly refine it. The reason why this was important was because the design for the bomb had come from the mind of none other than Jim Moriarty. It was only one of several connections that the criminal genius had amongst the terror cells of the Middle East. That was where Olivier was currently stationed. He was in the process of trying to map out Moriarty's network, identifying key locations and names, so that Mycroft and others might know exactly what they were dealing with. The Middle East was a key location, for obvious reasons. That was why Mycroft had not moved in on the bomb sooner. Any word, even a whisper of Olivier's operation and his cover could be exposed. He had cheated death once. Mycroft somehow doubted that he would be able to do so again.

"Another? So soon? My, my they certainly do move quickly."

"Time flies when the smell of success is in the air." Said Olivier. "This time, they'll be aiming for the United States as well as Britain."

"Do you know the flight?"

"Not yet. Once I do, I'll be sure to pass it along."

Mycroft stared hard at Olivier. "You could have passed this to me via one of the agents. That's what you did before. You didn't want to take the risk of being exposed. Why did you come here in person?"

Oliver's expression grew wistful and sad, the tired expression which was always lurking around the corners of his eyes now returned. He rose to his feet and walked over to one of the windows. "Was it so that you might have some sort of excuse to check up on her?" Mycroft asked, when the silence continued.

"I saw her today, you know." Said Olivier, "It was in Hyde Park. She was there with a man who I can only assume was your brother; tall fellow, black hair, eyes that saw everything."

"That would be Sherlock." Mycroft confirmed.

"They looked quite happy. I found that I couldn't help but follow them. They stopped for gelato at one of the street vendors."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware that Sherlock was a gelato connoisseur."

"Well, he is. Apparently, strawberry is his favorite flavor." Oliver shook his head, his voice tight with barely constrained emotion. "I sometimes feel as though I have been gone for a lifetime, Mycroft. It's only when I come back and see my Brenna, my Little Raven, that I realize I have been. I've been gone for her new life. I know that I can never get that back."

"Oliver-"

"No, Mycroft, don't. I know that there is a still a job that needs doing, one which is larger and more important than anything which I might want. But you still need to be aware of what the cost has been for me."

"I am." Said Mycroft, "I am made aware of it whenever I see Brenna."

"Just be sure that you keep her promise." Said Olivier, as he moved to exit. "See to it that you keep her safe."

"I will." Said Mycroft, as he watched Olivier move through the door, disappearing into the shadows from where he had come.

* * *

**Hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter. I am feeling a little more confidant in the way that this story is going now, and hopefully, updates will be a little more regular from here on out. Actually, in the next few chapters, I will be setting up a story arc for a character that I have been waiting to introduce from the beginning of A Thief's Secrets. Be prepared to meet the woman who is the undisputed matriarch of the Holmes clan, the mother of Mycroft and Sherlock. I can say one thing: she might not be the sort of person you would expect. **

**For right now, please read and review. **


	12. Good Morning

**Well, here is the chapter that begins to introduce a character I have really been looking forward to posting. I hope that you all appreciate the first glimpse of Sherlock's mother.**

Good Morning:

The cold of early December had settled over London. Clouds seemed to brood over the city more than normal and the frequent bouts of rain were now more miserable for anyone caught out in them, as the drops of rain were little more than very fine ice pellets which stung and bit into the skin. There were many days when sleeping in, in a nice warm bed were preferable to facing the morning commute in such weather.

Of course, sleeping in was a foreign concept to Sherlock Holmes. His mind was so incredibly active that it often refused to sit still long enough for him to relax into slumber. Even his frequent intimacy with Brenna couldn't entirely dampen that aspect of his character. Even though he did sleep better with her, Brenna had become used to the fact that sometimes, when she woke up, he would not necessarily be beside her.

This particular morning, however, something slightly different would wake her up. It was the sound of voices in the other room, voices raised in argument. Getting out of the bed, she grabbed Sherlock's shirt, where it had landed somewhat haphazardly the previous night. She tip-toed over to the door and opened it slightly, so that she could see into the kitchen and living room beyond. To her surprise, Mycroft was there. It wasn't exactly much of a surprise that the two brothers were arguing, but she couldn't imagine what would bring Mycroft here at this time of the morning.

"No," Sherlock was saying, "You can threaten me all you like, Mycroft. It's not going to happen."

"You had to have known that this was going to come around sooner or later. You can't keep Brenna all to yourself."

"So, I'm to submit her to some arcane ritual so as to gain approval that she doesn't need?"

"I thought you cared about her opinion."

"That's not the point, Mycroft."

"And what is, Sherlock? Are you afraid that she'll disapprove of Brenna?"

"If she hated Brenna, it would make no difference to me."

At this very moment, their conversation was interrupted by the skittering of little feet coming up the steps to 221B and a moment later, Lily entered the room, followed by John. "Oh, morning, Mycroft. I didn't expect to see you here. Do you have a case for Sherlock?"

"No, I came to see Sherlock on a personal matter." He was staring questioningly at Lily, who had made a beeline for Sherlock, and was trying to jump into his lap for a good morning lick on the face. "Sherlock, what is that?"

Sherlock, after unsuccessfully trying to keep Lily at bay, got to his feet, sending her falling to the floor. Scrambling to her feet, she continued following Sherlock, wagging her tail and looking up at him adoringly. "Mycroft, that is a dog. A beagle, to be perfectly precise. I would have thought you would be able to pick up on that."

"And since when do you make such sentimental attachments as pets or is she one of your new experiments?"

By this time, Brenna had managed to sneak down the hall and into the kitchen. She decided, now as was good a time as any to make her entrance. "I think Sherlock knows that if he ever attempted a thing, I would skin him alive, and then roast him over an open fire."

Lily gave an excited bark, immediately abandoned Sherlock and ran over to Brenna. She bent down to scratch her behind the ears. "Hello, Lily. I see you spent the night downstairs with Mrs. Hudson. I really can't blame you. She does spoil you rotten, doesn't she?"

She then peered up at Mycroft, who had risen to his feet in astonishment at seeing her dressed only in one of Sherlock's shirts and robe. The implications were quite clear, even to one less observant than Mycroft. He might have suspected that something of a more intimate nature had been occurring between the two of them, but being exposed to it in this bold manner was something of a shock to him.

"Good morning, Mycroft." Brenna said, without so much as batting an eye, "How's the queen?" She didn't give Mycroft time to answer, but turned to greet John. "Good morning, John."

John nodded his greeting, not sure if he should be finding this amusing or a tad embarrassing.

Sherlock seemed to be getting a considerable amount of enjoyment from this episode. It wasn't often that he managed to pull something like this on Mycroft, and he intended to push it to the limits. "Good morning, Brenna." He said, as he strode over to her, wrapped one arm around her waist and kissed her deeply, making a point of showing hat it was supposed to be much more than a simple greeting, it was a claim.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Once you actually let me sleep."

Mycroft made a noise that almost sounded as if he were gagging on something. Sherlock turned a smirk at his brother. "Oh, don't be alarmed, Mycroft. It's to do with sex."

"I'm sorry you didn't know about this little development between me and Sherlock, did you?" said Brenna, "I suppose not. Anthea has been most helpful in that regard. She airbrushed some of the reports that came back to you. I think as much as because she liked pulling the wool over your eyes as to be helpful to me."

"I must have a word with her about that." said Mycroft, who had managed to regain some of his composure by this point. He was a Holmes after all. Nothing threw them off balance for very long. He also wasn't as disapproving as might be expected. He may have been concerned about Sherlock's well-fare. But the explicit details of his sex life he could do without. Like most older siblings, Mycroft didn't really like to be confronted with the fact that their younger siblings were even having sex. "But if we could not move back to the topic at hand."

"No, Mycroft." Said Sherlock, "The matter is closed."

"What matter is that, if I may ask?" Brenna asked.

"Nothing that you need to worry about, Brenna."

"Sherlock-" Mycroft tried once more.

"Good morning, Mycroft." Said Sherlock, in clear tones of dismissal. "Do try and keep up with the diet, especially with all the Christmas season temptations on the way."

Mycroft sighed and gathered up his coat and umbrella. "Well, in that case, I'll bid you all good morning. But you haven't heard the last of this, Sherlock, depend upon it."

Sherlock huffed, but made no further response. Mycroft left, and when they heard the door below them shut, Brenna turned to Sherlock. "All right, Sherlock, what was all that about?"

"I told you, it's not something that you need to worry about." Sherlock seemed a little desperate to drop the matter, but Brenna wasn't going to let it go so quickly.

"Then why did I hear my name being argued between you and Mycroft?" She pressed, "If there's something going on, I think I should know about it."

"Brenna, please. It's nothing."

Brenna rolled her eyes. "I am feeling unusually generous this morning, Sherlock. But I am going to wheedle this out of you, one way or another."

* * *

In the posh section of London known as Belgrave Square, where the elite had lived for nigh on a century, in one of those stately homes that are rewarded to people who had rendered a particular service to the crown, an old woman hung up her mobile phone, and considered.

She really should have known better than to send Mycroft with her request. She should have known that he would couch it in terms that would have been reprehensible to Sherlock. Of course, Mycroft wanted to make out that it was his entire fault. Sherlock was being stubborn. Sherlock wasn't listening to reason. Sherlock was this. Sherlock was that, on and on and on.

She sighed and shook his head. They could still act like children, both of them. Oftentimes, she let them engage in such pretty squabbling, but she couldn't this time. There was far too much at stake.

No, she was not going to pass up a chance to meet the woman who had finally, against all odds and expectation, made her youngest son happy.

She would simply have to take matters into her own hands, wouldn't she? Truthfully, she should have perhaps done that from the start. She was a Holmes, after all. And a Holmes always did get their way. So, without further ado, the old battle Dragon sat down to plan her next move.

* * *

**We will be meeting Sherlock's mother in the next chapter. Let me say that there is a reason why she is called the Dragon, but there are also a few aspects of her personality that just might be surprising. I hope that that you enjoy meeting her. For now, please read and review. **


	13. Matriarch

**We finally meet Justine Holmes in a proper fashion in this chapter. This is one of the characters that I have been looking forward to introducing for awhile. I hope that you like the woman who raised our favorite Consulting Detective and minor official in the British government (and Sherlock has his job title capitalized because he's the only one in the world and he invented the job). **

Matriarch:

Brenna had fully intended to get Sherlock to spill what he had been arguing about with Mycroft. She knew it might take a few days, especially he was proving to be more than a little stubborn on this one, but that was all right. She liked a challenge. However, she wasn't expecting the answer to come of its own accord, in a way that she hadn't been looking for at all.

It all started when a call came into the Yard regarding a possible theft of a Van Gough painting from a wealthy address in Belgrave Square. "I'm still surprised at how much you can get into these types of cases." Said Alice, as they made their way to the address in her squad car.

"They break up the regular routine. It's not every day that I get to track down an authentic Van Gough _Sunflower_. There are only a few of them in existence. The last one to go up for auction sold for forty million pounds a few years ago. Who owns this one?"

"I don't know. The caller wanted to remain anonymous until we had more information. I think the owner wants to avoid any publicity."

"Yes, it's never a good sign to the criminal underworld that a wealthy target has been so easily snitched. It will be interesting to see if this one really cares about the Van Gough, or merely considers art a status symbol."

"You always think that the really rich fit into those two categories, don't you?" said Alice.

"It's always been my experience." Said Brenna.

When they arrived at the address, even Brenna had to admit that she was impressed. "Wow, they weren't kidding when the report said they had money. This house looks like it was built during the Restoration. I can't wait to see this. Houses this old must have some enhanced security, I wonder how the thieves got in."

"Here we go." Said Alice, with an indulgent smile. "You're in Sherlock mode."

However, something strange occurred when they entered the house. Though they were allowed into the foyer, the man who had opened the door seemed confused to see them there. He asked them to remain in the foyer, while he went to get his immediate supervisor. Alice and Brenna exchanged puzzled glances. "Why aren't they showing us into the room where the painting was?" Brenna asked, "Isn't that sort of standard procedure?"

"You'd think." Said Alice, "It's like they're not even expecting us."

At this moment, a woman came into the room who was dressed in the expensive, but uniformly general look that marked all high-end secretaries and personal assistants the world over. "Good morning." She said, "My name is Olivia Hansen."

"Detective Inspector Alice Bennett." Said Alice, "This is my consultant Brenna Ryan. Can you tell us what's going on?"

"I was hoping you might have been able to tell me that. I'm afraid that I don't have any idea why you're here, Inspector."

Alice frowned. "Our department received a call about a robbery at this location. You're telling me you don't know anything about that?"

"I'm afraid not, Inspector. There has been no robbery as far as I know."

Understandably, there was a great deal of confusion passing amongst these three people. However, they were so busy trying to figure out what was going on, that they didn't notice the entrance of another person, who was watching them all, and particularly Brenna, with a great deal of interest.

Thus, all confusion was brought to rest, when a new voice entered the conversation. "Don't worry, Olivia. These two women are here to see me." It was the kind of voice which, even if it was not an order, could make everyone in a room sit up and listen intently to every word she said.

All heads turned to look at the woman who was descending the steps. She was no longer young, being in her early sixties, but there was still an energy and quickness to her movements that belied that age. Her raven black hair was streaked with silver and her angular face was graced with sharply defined cheekbones. The elegance and the energy that emanated from her in waves made her intensely charismatic.

However, the one thing that made this all the more remarkable was the fact that she was blind. She carried a cane in her left hand, but she seemed to scarcely need it. Though she was blind, her gaze was still piercing. It almost seemed as though she had given up being able to see physically, for the ability of seeing all the secrets that people held.

She breezed down the steps, speaking as she went. "You can go about you work, Olivia. There's nothing to worry about. These two women are here to see me."

"Of course, Ma'am."

As Olivia left the room, the woman turned to look at them, with a dazzling smile. "Now, which one of you is Brenna Ryan?"

"Uh, that would be me." Said Brenna, a little uncertainly, as she had no idea who this person was. "Who are you and how do you know my name?"

The woman frowned. "He's never mentioned me, then? Curious, I thought that he would have, but than he's always been very independently minded."

"Who are you talking about?"

The woman herself was saved from answering by the totally unexpected entrance of the last person anyone had thought to see there. It was none other than Mycroft Holmes, and his usually calm, but condescending manner seemed to have been replaced by one of genuine concern.

"Mother, are you all right? I heard that you some sort of break-in and…" He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of Brenna and Alice. "Brenna, Inspector Bennett, what are you two doing here?"

Neither could fully answer, having been too shocked by suddenly just realizing who it was they were speaking to. Brenna herself was staring at the woman in front of her with open mouthed astonishment. For once in her life, she had absolutely nothing to say. How could she have missed seeing the similarity in that piercing, analyzing gaze, not to mention those cheekbones (which seemed to be something of a Holmes family trait)?

Mycroft took in their blank glances and groaned. "Mother, you didn't."

"Well, what did you expect me to do? After you summarily failed to couch it graceful terms to Sherlock, I have to take matters into my own hands."

"That was hardly my fault, Sherlock-"

"Oh, please, Mycroft. I don't want to hear a recital. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, I have guests."

"But, mother-"

"No buts, my dear." She took Mycroft by the arm and began to push him towards the door, gently perhaps, but in such a way that would not be argued with. "Besides, you have to be on your way if you're going to be in time for your meeting with the Norwegian Ambassador."

Mycroft stared at her. "And now may I ask did you know that? That's supposed to be confidential."

"Mycroft, when will you remember that you learned everything from me? Remember, mention his current mistress, but make no allusions whatsoever to his previous two marriages. Things will go easier that way."

Mycroft did not get a chance to say anything else before he was unceremoniously marched through the door. Under normal circumstances, Brenna might have found this entire situation hilarious. It wasn't often that Mycroft could be so completely controlled by anyone other than himself. But here was Mycroft, the British government incarnate, and he was being ordered about by a woman who was nearly a foot shorter than him and blind to boot.

But it was clear who had the influence in the mother-son dynamics. Mrs. Holmes was clearly and unquestionably a matriarch. And this realization made Brenna suddenly very nervous. Even Mycroft seemed to be deferring to her. She had clearly stage-managed this entire situation in order to meet Brenna for herself. What if she had only determined to tear her down? She knew that a thief in the family, especially a family like the Holmes', wasn't exactly a mark of honor. She may have wanted to say that she didn't care about Sherlock's mother's opinion, and for all intents and purposes, she didn't. But, she had experienced the pain of a disapproving parent. She didn't want to inflict that same thing upon Sherlock if she could help it.

Mrs. Holmes came back into the room, shaking her head, but there was an indulgent smile playing on her lips. "You must excuse Mycroft." She said, "He sometimes has the most awful sense of timing. However, now that he is gone, I can finally introduce myself properly." She held out her hand to Brenna. "My name is Justine Holmes, but please, call me Justine. It's a distinct pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Brenna shook her hand, still feeling slightly bewildered. Justine was smiling at her, and she seemed friendly enough, but she should know better than anyone that such things could be very effective disguises for the true motivations of people. "The pleasure's all mine." That was all that she could manage to say, as she accepted the handshake.

Justine then greeted Alice in a like manner. "I hope you'll forgive me for taking up your time with my little report to the Yard. I figured that it was the only way to get Brenna out here without raising suspicion."

"So, I take it that you Van Gough isn't actually stolen?" said Alice.

"Do you even have a Van Gough?" Brenna found herself asking.

"Well, of course." Said Justine, "I have a few of them, and one of them is in the room where the tea is set up. I do believe that it should be ready right now. Come along."

Justine seemed to make the assumption that they would follow, as she moved past them and into the room beyond. Brenna and Alice could only stare at each other in slight bemusement. Neither of them really knew what they were supposed to do. Finally, Alice said, "Well, this is certainly unexpected."

"Yeah, I suppose you could put it like that."

"I guess we had better-" Alice's phone suddenly range. "Bennett… Really, where? Of course, I'll be there in a moment." She hung up and looked at Brenna, her expression slightly apologetic. "I've got to leave, Brenna."

"What? You're going to make me go in there alone?" Brenna questioned in disbelief.

"Brenna, she doesn't seem to be all that threatening."

"Says the woman who is not sleeping with her son. She could be getting ready to eat me for all I know."

"Brenna, just give her a chance. You've faced down tougher museum security systems than this. This should be easy."

"And how did you feel when you met your husband's parents?"

"Touché, but I can tell you that his mother's greeting wasn't nearly as warm as that. Brenna, just give her a chance."

"Fine, fine." Said Brenna, "I might as well get this over with. But if you don't hear from me by tomorrow, send back-up."

* * *

Justine Holmes was perfectly aware of how she came across to most people. They either underestimated her because of her blindness or her ease of manner. However, she could tell that she had definitely unnerved Brenna. She could hear it in her tone of voice and the fact that she seemed to be waiting as long as possible to actually join her. She was going to have to tread carefully. She wasn't trying to scare Brenna away after all.

Therefore, she did not turn directly to look at Brenna when she at last came into the room, walking on tip toe like a frightened mouse, perhaps fearing that the slightest sound might cause offence. Instead, Justine made it a point to look at the painting over the mantelpiece. "I always find multiple meanings in the _Sunflowers_ of Van Gough, don't you?"

Brenna paused, the question catching her slightly off-guard. "What?"

"The _Sunflowers_, you know how he painted so many them throughout his life, all of them subtly different."

Brenna didn't really know where this conversation was going, but it was hard for her to not be sucked into a conversation about art, particularly Van Gough, one of her favorite artists. "Yes, so they say. That one seems to be a later version."

"Yes, so much darker and intense than the others, and yet, there was still a brightness to them, a beauty that not even despair could fully extinguish. I may not be able to see it anymore, but the one in this room was always my favorite. The memory of it can still stir some very powerful memories."

She paused for a moment, as she began to pour the tea, doing so with precise grace. She directed Brenna to sit down opposite her. Still battling uncertainty, Brenna sat down and reached for her tea. "Are you frightened of me?" Justine's question was rather unexpected and pointed. Brenna nearly dropped her saucer.

"Well, if you must know, yes."

"Curious. Why?"

"Because, I don't know what your intentions are. I don't know if you want to interrogate me to within an inch of my life, only to tell me that I'm not good enough for your son."

"Not good enough? Why would I think that?"

"Because I'm a criminal. I mean, I'm a former criminal, who just happens to be in a relationship with your son. Isn't there every reason for you not to approve of me?

"And if I didn't, would that make ay difference?"

"Well, I would have to say that it wouldn't. I love Sherlock, and I don't care what you or his brother or anyone else says, I'm not going to give him up just because someone might not approve of what we share."

Brenna could hardly believe what she was saying. What was she doing? She couldn't be talking like this to Sherlock's mother. She was making this whole thing even worse. She should just get up right now, and leave before Sherlock's mother threw her out.

However, she also found that she couldn't actually get up to escape. Justine Holmes continued to sip her tea calmly, staring at Brenna without saying a single word. And then, inexplicably, she smiled and nodded. "Forthright and to the point. I see that you are not afraid to speak you mind, Miss Ryan. I knew that I would like you."

Brenna gaped. "What a minute, what did you say?"

"I said, I knew that I would like you. Did you really think that I would be so foolish as to judge you out of hand?"

"To be quite honest, Mrs. Holmes-"

"Justine, dear, do remember. I always found the name Mrs. Hudson to have a rather stuffy sound to it."

"Oh, uh, right, Justine, I did. You must know about my past. I was a thief, a criminal. I still technically am as long as the anklet is on."

"And why in the heavens should I be put off by you being a thief? You do not think I did worse things in my day, or even Mycroft, who I'm sure, kills people every say without so much as a second thought." Justine laughed, and Brenna was again caught off-guard. A Holmes, laughing? Sherlock and Mycroft never laughed, except in contempt of the rest of the human race. Yet to Justine it seemed quite natural. "Trust me, Brenna. If I had any cause to disapprove of you, it would not be because of that."

"Oh." Said Brenna, still a bit uncertain about this whole thing.

"Besides, I practically know everything else about you. Your Sherlock's favorite topic of conversation, you know."

"Sherlock talks to you about me?" said Brenna, now suddenly more surprised than ever.

"Of course, he does. He really doesn't visit as often as I would life, but when he does, he can hardly go five minutes without mentioning your name. It's quite enduring."

"Really? Sherlock has never mentioned you."

"Oh, I'm not really all that surprised. My boys do tend to play their family connections pretty close and secret."

"Yeah, I noticed." Said Brenna, "But, I still don't understand. You obviously know everything there is to know about me. Why did you even want to meet me?"

"Well, it seemed that you were going to be staying around, so I wanted to meet the woman who had made such an impact on my son. You have made such a tremendous difference in his life. You've made him happy. You don't know how much I've longed for that over these many years."

Brenna stared at Justine. Her eyes had grown distant and soft, her voice quiet and gentle. In her whole manner was a tenderness that Brenna hadn't expected to find in the mother of Sherlock and Mycroft. Those two men were so aloof and detached from the emotions of ordinary humans. The only time that they showed emotion of any kind was with the people that they most trusted. But Justine Holmes seemed so incredibly open with everything.

Justine was once more looking at her closely. "Does that surprise you?"

"Yes, no, I mean, I wasn't expecting-"

"For me, to be so concerned about my son's welfare. I can't say I blame you, especially considering how they act to each other as well as everyone else around them. I'll be honest, it's not all that I would have chosen for them, but well, things in my life and theirs' dictated otherwise." There was a moment of silence, and then Justine continued, in a surprised tone. "He hasn't told you?"

"Told me what?"

"About his father, and why he and Mycroft are the way they are?"

"No, he's never told me anything about his past. We each respect that about the other."

Justine paused, as though considering something. She then squared her shoulders and said, "Well, then. I shall simply have to tell you myself."

"But-"

"Don't worry, Brenna. I won't tell you any specifics. There are parts of this story that are Sherlock's alone to tell. However, if you are going to be part of this family, you deserve to know how we came to be who are today."

* * *

**I know it's a bit of an abrupt cut off, but I needed to end the chapter someplace. I hope that you all like Justine. I really wanted to create a different type of character for the mother of Sherlock and Mycroft. I have to admit that she is so much fun to write. Please review and tell me what you think. **

**In the next chapter, we learn a little bit more about the events which took place in the childhoods of Mycroft and Sherlock. **


	14. Justine's Tale

**So, here is another chapter that I have been looking forward to, along with the introduction of Justine. Sherlock's childhood and past is one of the most popular subjects for fan fiction. I hope that you find this to be a unique take on that subject and offers a few answers as to why Sherlock is the way he is. **

Justine's Tale:

Justine's story began many years prior to the present moment. It was much to Brenna's own surprise that she learned Holmes was, in fact, her maiden name. Why both Sherlock and Mycroft had chosen to take and keep their mother's name as opposed to that of their father, she would explain at the proper time. Suffice it to say that it carried considerably more honor in the opinion of the two than did their father's.

As Justine put it, in a very succinct manner, there had always been a Holmes serving in the shadow of the throne, who, by their efforts, kept the country safe from threats most people never even knew about. Justine, herself, had been the first woman of the family to hold such a position, a fact which she was quite proud of. She had averted disasters, prevented wars and protected her country from its enemies. She had been a legend, earning the nickname of the Battle Dragon from both enemy and ally alike. Whether it had been a sign of respect or spoken with a slight hint of terror was always difficult to say.

But, than had come the one thing which she had not foreseen, the one thing she had not been able to fight against. She had fallen in love.

His name had been David Hendricks. When she heard that name, Brenna couldn't help but comment, "David? That seems a very common name. I would have thought that you would meet someone named Augustine or Weatherby. Something unusual and exotic."

"Well, it was perhaps the very fact that he was completely ordinary man, albeit a very rich one, that I was so attracted to him. Nothing about him stood out and that was such a relief to me. He seemed so kind, so good. Unfortunately, while I admit to falling in love with him for that reason, I think that if he had really had a chance to know me, he would not have wanted to marry me. I don't think he was entirely prepared for all that it meant to be married to a Holmes.

"Things were all right between us, at first. Mycroft arrived soon after our wedding, and I do think that his father was quite proud of him. Mycroft was an intelligent child, to say the least. He was polite and reserved, just what his father hoped he would be. And then came Sherlock. He was not really planned for, you know. I don't believe David really wanted more children; he was so attached to Mycroft. But, the moment that I first held Sherlock, I could tell that he was going to be such a special, wonderful boy."

Brenna really couldn't describe what she was feeling as she listened to Justine's tale. She seemed to have entirely forgotten Brenna's presence, and instead seemed to be reliving the days of the past.

"He was not always so cold and distant. When he was a little boy, he was curious and mischievous. Oh, the trouble that he and Mycroft could get up to. They were once close. They were not like the children their age, and they both seemed to see that in each other they would finally be understood. And since Mycroft was seven years Sherlock's senior, he could be said to have practically raised him, when I wasn't there. I should have better managed my duty to the British Government and my duty to my family. I thought, or wanted so desperately to believe that David could actually be a father to Mycroft and Sherlock, but that wasn't the case."

"I take it that Mycroft was the apple of his father's eye, and Sherlock was nothing to him."

"Yes. David did not want Sherlock; he did not even love him. He merely tolerated him. Sherlock wanted his father's approval and did everything to get it. But things grew worse when Mycroft left home to go to University. With Mycroft not at home, any balance that existed between Sherlock and David was gone. With that influence gone, Sherlock soon began to see things he had never seen before, things he was not able to handle."

"Even at that age, Sherlock's skill at deducing was unprecedented. But he still didn't know how to control it, or even how to process half of what he saw. He found out that my husband was having an affair. He didn't know what to do. He tried to tell Mycroft. He believed that Mycroft would know what to do, as he always had before.

"But Mycroft had changed during his time at University. He had started to associate with the wrong crowd."

Brenna blinked and shook her head in disbelief. "Wait a minute, you mean to tell me that Mycroft spent his time partying in University?"

"Ah, I see you mistake me. I did not mean that kind of crowd. In fact, some might have even considered it the right crowd. The most upstanding people in the University, the top students from all the most prestigious families. Any mother would have been proud that her son had ended up there. But that group of students also influenced Mycroft. They were a breeding ground that enabled Mycroft's lesser qualities to grow stronger. He became more like his father, distant, cold, and cruel. When Sherlock told him what he knew, he would not hear of it. Not only did he entirely reject as impossible what Sherlock suspected, he told him never to tell me of it. The family would be torn apart and it would be his fault."

"He said that?" said Brenna, slightly appalled. "Sherlock couldn't have been anymore than twelve at the time."

Justine shook her head. "If you think he was bad now, you should have seen him then. He was, in fact, worse. I don't seek to accuse him or justify him. I'm only telling you this so that you'll understand."

Brenna thought about this for a moment. Her mind began to go over again the times when she had first met Mycroft, and the first time that she had observed the two Holmes brothers together, and her mind suddenly remembered something. "Is that it? Is that what caused the childish feud?"

"It was the beginning of it, but it grows worse. Had Sherlock told me at once what he suspected, things might have become much smoother. However, as difficult as it might be to believe, there was a time when Sherlock took Mycroft's word as gospel. He listened to him and did not breathe a word to me. He endured it for six months, the poor boy. He had to keep a pressing secret from everyone whom he cared for, while all around him life went on as completely normal. He could not understand why everyone around him could not see what was so obviously happening. And then, one day, he caught my husband and his mistress in a… a moment. They were so angry that they turned on the boy, beating him until he promised to keep silent. I fear that it permanently scarred him."

Brenna remembered the many times that Sherlock had shied away from physical contact, especially of the more intimate variety. She wondered if that incident had anything to do with his father might have had anything to do with that.

Justine continued. "I was away from home at the time, and even if I might have had an inkling, I had no idea how far things had progressed. But not even I could miss how Sherlock had changed in a few short weeks, how he seemed to shrink back in terror whenever my husband entered the room, and how very silent he was. Since he was such a chatty little boy that was really my first clue. One night, I finally found out everything. You may imagine how I felt, and how I acted."

Brenna wasn't sure if she needed to. Justine seemed to have taken a liking to her, but she suspected that the Holmes matriarch could be fierce and pitiless when it came to the matter of protecting her family.

"I shan't go into many specifics. I confronted my husband, and gave him the option of leaving quietly with his share of the settlement and never seeing us again or a messy, public divorce that he would never walk away from alive. Naturally, he chose the latter course. Eventually, he saw things my way."

There had been an inexplicable pause between that last sentence and that which had gone before. It was almost as if she were deliberately trying to leave something out of the story. "Is that really how it happened?"

Justine cocked her head, and she seemed pleased that Brenna had caught that. "Perhaps not. But that is for Sherlock to tell."

Brenna processed this, before finally asking. "What happened after all this? I can't imagine that Mycroft was too pleased."

"No, the news destroyed the idealized image of his father that he held for years. Worse, it destroyed the trust that Sherlock placed in him. He blamed Mycroft for all that had happened and swore that he would never trust him again. The wedge has existed to this day, and it is something that Mycroft has tried to overcome for years."

Brenna's eyebrows knitted together. "Really? Mycroft?"

"Why, of course. You must have seen the way he takes care of Sherlock."

"Yes, by kidnapping, spying and meddling. I do know that he cares for Sherlock, but he does have an odd way of express it."

"And how else is he supposed to do it? Mycroft has tried to repair the rift. And however much he might have been responsible for setting it in motion, Sherlock must bare some of the blame for absolutely refusing to see anything that Mycroft does for him in a positive light. He deliberately misinterprets it, and because of that, Sherlock has sometimes made incredibly dangerous and foolish choices. Forgive me for sounding harsh, but it's true. It was partly due to Sherlock's insistence upon his own judgment that he became addicted to drugs, and it is only due to Mycroft constantly checking up on him that he was able at all to recover."

To be truthful, Brenna had never really considered the relationship between Mycroft and Sherlock from the elder's point of view. True, Sherlock seemed to have suffered the more of the two, but then again, how much worse was it to be the partial cause of such suffering? She was the youngest; she had no point of reference. But her older sisters had all born witness to the fact an older sibling letting down a younger was just about the worse pain imaginable, a guilt that never completely went away. She began to wonder in her own mind, if she had perhaps have been judging Mycroft a bit too harshly. Maybe some of his actions deserved a closer look.

"And what happened to David? Is he still alive?"

There was another of those minute pauses that signaled to Brenna that there was, in fact, more to the story than Justine was telling her. She finally answered, in a quiet voice. "No, he's dead. He killed himself shortly after these events."

"Oh, I see." What else was Brenna supposed to say to such a revelation?

"I know that this must be a lot for you to take in." said Justine, after a pause, "I never would have told you if I did not think that it would be of some help to you in understanding Sherlock, and perhaps Mycroft as well."

"It does give me a lot to think about." Said Brenna, and indeed, it seemed to answer several questions which she had never had the answers to before. "Thank you, I mean, I know you didn't have to tell me this, especially so soon after we've met."

"Trust me, Brenna, I would not have told you without good reason." She rose to her feet and said, "Now, I believe that is all of your time which I can take up this afternoon. No doubt your Inspector Bennett will be waiting for you at her current crime scene."

"Yes, I suppose so." said Brenna, who couldn't help but think that the rest of the day was going to be somewhat boring compared to this last hour. "I really don't know what to say after everything you've told me."

Justine smiled. "Well, how about I hope to see you soon, for those are my words to you. I was expecting to find you intriguing, Brenna, but I have to say, I wasn't looking to like you quite so much."

Brenna was always fairly good at telling when people were lying. And in this instance, she saw that Justine meant every word which she said. "In that case, I do hope to see you soon."

* * *

**Please read and review. **

**Next chapter: I know, Christmas is still a few months away. But it's never too early to have Christmas in fan fiction especially when dealing with a Grinch like Sherlock. But doing a little bit of decorating leads to some surprising revelations and some good old fashioned fluff. **


	15. Decorating

**I apologize for the horrid delay between chapters. I have been working on completing another story, and then school got in the way, and before I knew it, the time between updates got extended far longer than I wanted. Hopefully, this nice, fluffy chapter will make up for that. Please enjoy!**

Decorating:

Sherlock Holmes was not sentimental. Indeed, the smallest hint of such things, and he would inevitably avoid it as the plague. So, naturally, the ideas and traditions of Christmas, a time of year that is considered to be the most sentimental time of the year, caused him no small amount of intense distaste. Everything that even remotely resembled Christmas was a target of his incisive ridicule, from the old holiday movies on the telly, to the Santa's that were ringing the bells for charity on the street corners, to the music that poured out of the store windows whenever anyone walked out of the door, which was fairly often considering how rampant later shoppers were.

If Sherlock had had his say, he would have had nothing to do with the blasted business. Unfortunately, Brenna happened to love Christmas, and she was bound and determined that she and Sherlock would share some of the holiday traditions. Thusly, it was with a sour expression and much grumbling that Sherlock showed up at her house that night to help her decorate.

"What is the point of decorating?" He gripped, "No one is going to see it except you. Such ostentatious displays make absolutely no sense. It's a lot of effort for something that will all be torn down in a few weeks time anyway."

Brenna smirked, as she handed Sherlock shot chocolate. (On of the few holiday traditions that he actually seemed to enjoy). "This from the man who stayed glued to his microscope for three days so that he could compare the decay rates of two files?"

"That was different. That was in the pursuit of science."

"That no one will ever know the results of but yourself. Now, quit griping, Sherlock, and start hanging the holly."

For the next half hour, Sherlock and Brenna decorated the living room and kitchen with boughs of holly, poinsettias (fake since Brenna didn't want to risk poisoning Lily), ornaments and other various assorted trinkets that all no doubt had some sentimental quality to them. Sherlock could have easily guessed the back story of each and every item, but he had a suspicion that Brenna would take it as a sign that he was really getting into the spirit of things and he wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. So, he kept quiet and sullen. Brenna, meanwhile, paid absolutely no attention to his state of mind. She was annoyingly happy, in fact, obviously lost in whatever contented feelings one was supposed to get around this time.

Sherlock, however, was never one to allow the silence to continue for very long where Brenna was concerned. Truth be told, he liked talking with her as she always had something decently intelligent to say, unlike the other 90% of the population. "So, does the season of so called hope and good will bring out the seedier side of human nature in the White Collar criminals? It produces an appalling lack of murders for me to look into."

"Oh, we've had a few interesting calls. And some of them go in the most unexpected directions. Take this morning, for instance. Alice and I received a call about a stolen Van Gough."

"Well, go on, don't stop there. It was just becoming mildly interesting."

"Well, as it turned out it was all staged by your mother so that I could meet her."

Very few things could actually completely shock Sherlock. But this statement did just that quite admirably. He had been drinking his chocolate, and when he heard this statement from Brenna, he choked and nearly dropped his cup. He stared at Brenna in open-mouthed astonishment for several seconds. "You… you met my mother?"

"Yes." Said Brenna, clearly enjoying Sherlock's reaction.

"But… why?"

"Well, it seems that she wanted a chance to meet me in person. Apparently, you and Mycroft couldn't agree on the appropriate manner of the meeting. Was that what the two of you were arguing about the other day?"

Sherlock had managed to gain control of his surprise, though it was still quite evident that he hadn't gotten over it completely. "Perhaps, maybe. What did you think of her?"

"Surprised as I am to admit it, I quite liked her. I think that she might have liked me, but I'm still not sure."

"I'm sure that she did. She would have let you know it if she found you unsuitable." He noticed that Brenna smiled when he said this. "What?"

"Well, she's nothing like you or Mycroft, none of the arrogance that Mycroft has or the social ignorance that you enjoying flouting to the world."

Now it was Sherlock's turn to smile, and Brenna herself was surprised to see a touch of tenderness in his expression. "You honestly think that my mother is better at conversation than either of us? Well, I think that's very true. My mother is a genius at the deceptive art of conversation. She lures people into revealing secrets without them even being aware of it. She makes them think that she could care less about what those secrets are."

"You sound very proud." Said Brenna.

"My mother is a genius, more so than either myself or Mycroft put together. Where do you think our gifts come from?"

"That is high praise coming from you. I'm surprised that you never mentioned her to me."

"If I had mentioned her, you would have wanted to meet her.

"Would that have been so terrible? Considering how well this first meeting turned out."

"No, I just…" Sherlock trailed off, seemingly trying to find the right words. "I just didn't want her to frighten you off."

"Frighten me off? What are you talking about?"

"My mother can be… very intimidating when she wants to be. I didn't want to run the risk that she might disapprove of you. And that you might take that as an excuse to…"

He couldn't say it, one of the things that he feared the most, but which he could never bring himself to say, was that Brenna would leave him. It was a silly fear, he knew, especially considering the direction that their relationship had taken in previous months. However, it was one that still persisted.

Brenna seemed to sense this. She came forward and put her arms around him. "Sherlock, after all that I have been with you personally, your brother, our own first two years of being at each other's throats, you honestly think that something like your mother's disapproval would frighten me off?"

Sherlock turned to look at her in that incisive manner of his. "What did she tell you?"

"What do you mean?"

"She told you about my childhood, didn't she? About who my father was, what he was?" The undisguised tone of bitterness was something of a surprise to Brenna. She had never heard him speak so coldly of another human being. It was clear that even in death, Sherlock had never forgiven his father.

"Yes, she did tell me. But she didn't tell me everything. She said that there were some things that only you could tell me."

"And you aren't at all curious?"

Brenna looked down. "I'll admit it, Sherlock. I am curious. But I'm not going to ask. I'm going to let you tell me yourself when you're ready."

"But you know what he did to my family. Aren't you worried that some part of me could end up doing the same thing?"

"No, Sherlock, of course not. What your past might be may have made you the man that you are now, but it's not all of who you have become. I love you, right here and now. That's all I need, as long as you love me to."

Sherlock looked deeply into her eyes, and it was clear that those words touched him in a way that not even he would have been able to explain. He sometimes asked himself how he ever could have considered love as a weakness, when he had never felt stronger than when he was holding the woman in front of him. "I do." He replied, in a soft voice, "I do love you."

Brenna smiled and issued him on the nose. "You know, I think we've done enough decorating for tonight. All we need is one more thing." She reached into the box of greenery beside her and pulled out a small cluster of leaves.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"You honestly don't know? This is mistletoe, Sherlock. I've never really had a good use for it until this year. I think it's high time I was able to do so."

"What is it for?"

Brenna's smile increased. "Well, let me show you." She lifted the mistletoe above their heads and then kissed Sherlock.

By the time they parted, they were both breathless and their clothing was starting to come undone. "You're right." Said Sherlock, "I think that I could really start to enjoy having that decoration around here. We should put one up on every room."

"Starting with the bedroom, I'm assuming?"

Sherlock grinned at her, that carefree, boyish grin which she loved seeing. "Naturally starting there, of course."

* * *

**I can't help it: the combination of Sherlock, fluff, and Christmas is to good a mix to pass up. There will be a little more of it in future chapters, so be on the lookout for it. Please read and review. **


	16. Demise

**Before anything else is said, allow me to have a moment of fangirl excitement. January 19, 2014, Sherlock, Season 3 will have its debut in the United States! Let the countdown begin! **

**I mentioned that some part parts of this story wouldn't necessarily follow the main arc of the episode A Scandal in Belgravia. Well, this chapter starts that. Instead of Irene supposedly dying right on Christmas day, it's going to be a few weeks before that. The Christmas party will be happening, but there will be a few considerable differences which will hopefully be good. For right though, here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. **

Demise:

Despite starting to develop an affinity for certain species of decorative greenery and a certain hot beverage that tasted of chocolate and whipped cream, Sherlock still was determined that he would not be dragged beneath the undertow of the sentimentality of the Christmas season. However, he also knew that he would have to make a few sacrifices in his own personal tastes in order to meet Brenna's expectations and make her happy. One of those things was, of course, the giving and receiving of presents. Again, Sherlock never really understood the need for this tradition as an adult, since he could purchase whatever he needed himself whenever he wanted, but now that there were people in his life who he actually could admit that he cared for (even if he would not have told it to anyone else), he supposed that he would have to start looking for things to get them, as well as telling them what he would like.

It was a somewhat tedious process, though not necessarily the worst part of the season. However, he did receive one present from a source he was not at all expecting.

Sherlock had continued to receive sporadic texts from Irene Adler. He didn't know why, since he never replied to any of them, especially when most of them contained some sort of sexual invitation. He was not so completely ignorant of the current slang to know that Irene's constant repetition of "Let's have dinner" in all of her texts meant something different than an evening meal.

Brenna had taken it all in remarkably good stride. She had even given him a few valuable insights into Irene's character. He must have made an impression on her, as she wouldn't have even bothered trying to contact him over and over again. What made it even more amusing for Brenna, was that Irene actually must have thought that she had a chance.

Oh, all right, perhaps she was not quite as confidant as all that. There were times when Sherlock was able to detect some measure of jealousy in Brenna's attitude when it came to Irene. According to what she had told him, Irene would have loved taking him away from her, a repayment of whatever imagined wrongs the two of them might have shared in the past. Sometimes, the reminder of that threat, however unlikely it might have been, was enough to make her uncomfortable.

Sherlock, of course, always felt it a duty to show her just how wrong she was. In the past, he had never really understood how having sex in such instances could accomplish anything besides satisfying ego. However, he was beginning to think otherwise. He yearned to protect Brenna from everything and everyone that might do her harm. He desired above anything else to always remind her that she was his and he was hers, and that nothing would ever be able to change that. Channeling those two strong instincts into the act of sex had been, surprisingly, a wonderful experience, resulting only in strengthening their relationship further. Sherlock, for once in his life, was starting to think that everything he had ever once though about sex to be completely wrong.

But, besides that aspect, Irene remained nothing more than a footnote in their relationship, especially as the flurry of the holidays descended on them. When he had heard nothing from her for a few weeks, he had assumed that she had finally moved on. Until, he received this text one morning: **I'm thinking of sending you a present.**

The message had made no sense to him, and he really didn't want to think of what sort of present Irene Adler would send him for Christmas. Later that afternoon, however, he received another text from Irene: **Mantelpiece.**

A quick inspection of the mantelpiece proved to yield a troubling result. There was a small box propped up on the mantelpiece, wrapped in shiny red paper. He instantly recognized it as the same shade as Irene's lipstick that she had worn when they first met. He opened the box and found Irene's cameraphone inside. He gazed at it for a long time, his mind going over all of the possibilities as to why Irene would have sent him what she claimed to be her lifeline, finally settling upon the only possible solution.

He took out his phone and called Mycroft. "Oh, dear Lord." He heard him reply, "We're not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?"

Sherlock ignored his brother's sarcastic tone and said, "I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight."

"We already know where she is. As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters."

"No, I mean you're going to find her dead."

Only about half an hour later, Sherlock and Mycroft were at Bart's Morgue, and Sherlock was able to confirm that the body brought in belonged to Irene Adler. The face had been badly mutilated, and Sherlock had only been able to confirm it was by checking her measurements. He had left quickly after that, pausing in the hallway to wait for Mycroft.

"You know that you're going to have to tell Brenna about this." Said Mycroft, "She's had some history with Irene, so I'm fairly certain that she will want to know about this as soon as possible."

Sherlock nodded. "I was just going to go there after… all this. I'm not expecting her to feel much pain at the loss. She hasn't told me much, but I do know that she and Irene really didn't like each other."

"I wouldn't bet on that, Sherlock. Women never react in the way you expect them to. The mind of a woman is still a mystery, Sherlock, even to people such as us. I highly doubt that that any scientific methods could be used to solve it."

This was a rare moment for both Holmes brothers. They were utterly alone in this quiet deserted hallway, outside of a morgue. There was no one that they had to perform for, no one who they had to hide from. Now, the masks came off. Despite all the animosity, the bickering and bitterness, Mycroft and Sherlock had never been quite able to banish the fact that they were still very deeply connected, and not just by the bonds of family. They were the only people in the world who could really understand what it felt like to be so completely different from everyone else.

There was a silence, before Mycroft asked. "How did you know she was dead?"

"She had an item in her possession, an item that she said her life depended on. She chose to give it up."

"Where is this item now?"

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he turned to look out the windows of the door that was at the other end of the hall. There was a family, weeping for the loss of a loved one, a grandparent most likely.

"Look at them. They all care so much." Sherlock was particularly moved by the death. Death was only the natural consequence of life. Everyone had to die eventually, by violent or natural means. Why did people allow their emotions to make them behave so irrationally? Of course, Sherlock had never really lost anyone close to him. Only his father, and that loss had been more a release than anything else.

However, he knew that he was different. He knew Mycroft was different. The rest of the world was not like them. "Do you ever wonder if there is something wrong with us?"

"All lives end." Said Mycroft, "All hearts re broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."

If there could have been any philosophy the Holmes brothers shared, that would have been it. Don't care, don't get close, no one will let you down if you do. And yet, not even they had been able to go through life alone. They both knew that they were different. But they both cared, or loved someone. Was it a weakness or a strength?

Therein, perhaps, lay the conundrum which neither of them could figure out. By the standards of the rest of the world, both Mycroft and Sherlock were freakish specimens. But it had been those very qualities which had brought them to the women who had become an integral par of their lives. Despite all that they might say, both men were fascinated by this. Perhaps trying to find the answer to a problem they might never fully solve was one of the reasons why they worked so hard on those relationships.

Sherlock found himself analyzing Mycroft's statement, before he let out a long breath and said, "There's supposed to be snow over Christmas. I'm sure that Brenna will find that more than agreeable. Considering how many snow globes she keeps around the house, it seems that she's always dreaming of a white Christmas.

The statement seemed entirely incongruous to the conversation which had just followed, but Mycroft was one of the few who knew that Sherlock very often said things in a different way. "Well, considering how very well you know her, I'm sure that she'll be expecting you to join her in the festivities. It will be good to distract her from this. Perhaps Miss Adler's death is for the best. Brenna will be better in this long run for this."

That sounded almost harsh, but Sherlock knew that Mycroft was, in reality, expressing concern for Brenna's well-being. In fact, that was really the first time that he had heard such a direct statement from him regarding anything positive about Brenna. "I must say, Mycroft, you're becoming almost liberal when it comes to Brenna."

"I will admit that she can drive me to distraction at times, Sherlock. But than again, so do you. She is after all, family."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but found that he had nothing to say. His reaction clearly amused Mycroft, who regarded Sherlock's surprised with a slight smile. "Come now, Sherlock it's not so very hard to believe, is it? After all that you and Brenna have been through together, it's really actually quite… familiar to me, in some respects."

Sherlock knew that Mycroft was talking about Marguerite. A stable relationship which had changed both of their lives was probably one of the few things that both Holmes brothers could say with any certainty they had in common, even if perhaps they would have only admitted it to themselves.

As it was, there was really nothing else for them to speak of. The business with Irene had been resolved, and as Mycroft had pointed out, it was time for Sherlock to tell Brenna about it. This moment between the two of them felt necessary, somehow. It would not change their relationship in any significant way, but sometimes, it was good to be reminded that as antagonistic as they would always be, they needed each other more than they were willing to admit.

"Merry Christmas, Mycroft." Said Sherlock, as he headed for the doors of the hospital.

"And a Happy New Year." Mycroft called after him, as the two Holmes brothers went their separate ways once again.

* * *

When Sherlock arrived at Brenna's flat, and let himself in (he had acquired the key to the flat ages ago, though neither Shane nor Brenna seemed to entirely care), he heard the excited sounds of Brenna speaking with someone on the phone. "Of course we're going to go shopping at Harrods', Liz. And I don't want to hear anything about how you're on a budget. It's the holidays and you need to let loose this time of year."

Sherlock came into the living room, and saw Brenna walking animatedly around the room, as she often did when speaking on the phone. Her face was utterly radiant and excited. That could only mean that she was speaking with her older sister, Elizabeth, the only member of her family until recently who had been on speaking terms with her. Sherlock had never met her, but he knew how very close they were.

Brenna spotted him and waved, indicating that she would only be a few more minutes. "Of course we don't need anything from Harrods', sis. That's the point. We're going to have a great time spending money on a bunch of crazy things we don't need. That's the point of a Christmas shopping spree… Come on, Lizzy, I know that you're just as excited as I am… Look, Liz. I got to go. Right, see you soon. I can't wait. Love you. Bye."

She hung up the phone, with an excited squeal and darted over to Sherlock to give him a hug. He had no idea what was causing her to react with such an irrational amount of excitement, until she said in an excited and breathless voice, "Oh, Sherlock, guess what? I just heard from Elizabeth. She managed to get leave over the holidays. She's going to be here in London for Christmas!"

Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to respond to this. He knew that Elizabeth worked in the Royal Navy; he believed that Brenna had mentioned her role had something to do with computers and technology. He also knew that Brenna hadn't seen her for a few years. "That's good news." He finally was able to say.

"I know, isn't it?" said Brenna, nearly jumping up and down with excitement. "This is going to be the best Christmas I have had in years. I can't wait for you to meet Elizabeth, Sherlock. You'll love her, she's amazing."

"I'm sure that I will." Said Sherlock, who was trying to bring up the issue of Irene when Brenna was obviously so happy.

However, Brenna had grown accustomed to Sherlock's moods. In this moment, she paused in her happy monologue and looked closely at Sherlock. "Are you all right, Sherlock? What's the matter?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, trying to understand how he should say it. "I came to tell you something very important, Brenna. Irene Adler is dead."

For several long moments, she stared at him. Her face was strangely blank and it was difficult even for him to tell exactly what she was thinking. "Dead? Are you certain?"

"Yes, I just came from the hospital. I was able to confirm that she was dead."

"How did you find it out in the first place?"

Sherlock explained how Irene had sent her the cameraphone, and that he had deduced that the only reason she would have parted with it was if her life was in danger. Brenna listened to it all in stoic silence. When he had finished, he said, "I know that this must come as something of a surprise to you. I have to admit, I don't know if I can really offer any comfort. Not after everything you've told me about your past connection with Irene."

"No, Sherlock, it's all right. In a way, it's almost a relief." Seeing Sherlock's confused expression, she said, "I never told you this, Sherlock, and now I think maybe I should have. Irene contacted me a few months ago."

This caught Sherlock's attention. Brenna had told him several times that Irene would have been happy to see her dead or ruined for revenge. "What did she do? She didn't hurt you, did she?"

"No, no, she didn't. She did say that something big was coming, that she was warning me so that I could be on my best game for her scheme. She told me that my father was alive, Sherlock. She even had a picture of him that she showed me. I think that's why I didn't want to tell you or Alice. I was just afraid that if I did, any chance I had of finding out more would have been worried."

Sherlock needed to take a moment to take all this in. He didn't necessarily blame Brenna for keeping the secret, even if it didn't really make him all that happy. But he would not bring that up now. With Irene dead, it now seemed a non-issue. "Did she tell you how she would get this revenge?"

There was a split second of hesitation on Brenna's part, before she answered, "No, only that she was willing to do anything to get it."

Sherlock nodded, willing to accept this for the moment. He was certain that there was more which Brenna was not telling him, but now was not the time or the place for an interrogation. He would wait until after the holidays, when things had hopefully settled down. "Well, perhaps she wanted revenge to much to see clearly. She obviously couldn't see whoever was coming after her. Perhaps, you can finally put this behind you."

* * *

**Please read and review. **

**In the next few chapters, I will be introducing a new character that has sort of had a cameo appearance earlier: Elizabeth, Brenna's older sister, and John's new love interest. I know, John is going to have Mary in the next series, but in the world of fan fiction, I sometimes like to explore different possibilities for the characters. Besides, it's not as though Sherlock will be getting a girlfriend in the series any time soon (though, sometimes, I do wish that he would open his eyes and get together with Molly). So, I hope that you like her, because she is going to play a really big part in the second series (and most likely the third, once I actually see the episodes and figure out how to put my own characters into them. At least I won't have to wait very much longer).**

**Next chapter: We have met Sherlock's mother, but we have yet to see just she interacts with our favorite Consulting Detective. When Justine comes to dinner at 221B, it will certainly prove to be an interesting evening. **


	17. Dinner

**In this chapter, we get more of Justine, and also a little bit of background into Sherlock's childhood. Enjoy!**

Dinner:

In the week or so that followed the news of Irene's death, life continued on as normal. Even Brenna herself started getting back into her holiday cheer, which made Sherlock feel slightly better for her well-being, even if the entire idea of Christmas still irritated him to no end.

It happened that one day when John and Sherlock were going on a futile trip to Bart's Morgue to participate in yet another of Sherlock's bizarre experiments; they ran into Brenna, who had, herself, been doing a little research on her own case. Sherlock didn't need to give her a lot of persuasion about spending the night at Baker St.; John himself got the message that he would be retiring early that night, or going to the pub and not coming back until late.

They had to stop at her flat so that she could grab a change of clothes, as well as Lily herself. Lily had become something of a fixture at Baker St. ever since Brenna had started sleeping over with Sherlock. Sherlock had grumbled over this, though when the little bed had appeared beside the fire place that was just the right size for Lily, and no one knew where it came from, Brenna had come to think that she knew where it was from.

When they walked up to front of Baker St., Sherlock stopped when he noticed the car that was parked a few feet away. "Sherlock, what is it?" John asked.

"She's here." said Sherlock, without elaborating. He brushed past them, and headed for the door.

John looked at Brenna. "Who's here?"

"I don't know for sure. But something tells me you might be meeting one of the few people who can control Sherlock and Mycroft."

The three of them came into the front hallway, they were immediately met by the sight of Mrs. Hudson coming down the steps carrying a tea tray. "Oh, Sherlock, dear, you're back. That's good. Justine was afraid that she might miss you."

"Mrs. Hudson, what is my mother doing here?"

John's eyes went wide with surprise and he looked at Brenna. "Mother?" He mouthed at her, clearly having never thought of the fact that Sherlock had one. Brenna merely shrugged sheepishly.

"Oh, she's just here for her yearly Christmas visit. Of course, this is the first time that she's ever been able to fit in a visit to you at the same time."

"How lovely." Said Sherlock, with his usual dead pan sarcasm. "Just what I was looking forward to."

Mrs. Hudson didn't seem to notice Sherlock's mood. "But you must be wanting to talk to her yourself. I'll just be down here."

As Mrs. Hudson went to the kitchen, and Sherlock seemed to steel himself for a few moments before heading up to the stairs. "Come on, Brenna, you too, John. If I have to go through with this, so do you."

Brenna and John followed him, John murmuring to Brenna, "Are we seriously about to meet Sherlock's mother?"

"Yes, I believe we are. Don't worry; she's not as bad as Sherlock makes her out to be."

"I hope I can trust you on that."

Brenna smirked at him, "Come on, John. You have less to worry about than I did. You're not the one sleeping with Sherlock, after all. No matter what the general public might like to believe."

"Don't get me started. It seems that Sherlock can get offers from any woman who recognizes him, while I have to make up a dozen excuses just to get a woman to have a drink with me."

Brenna stole a sympathetic look at John. She knew how frustrating it was for him not to have someone that he could share his life with. John was one of those men who shouldn't be alone.

She put a hand on his arm and said, "You don't deserve someone who listens to all those stupid rumors. She's out there. You just haven't met her yet."

John smiled his thanks at her. However, even as she said this, an image of golden hair and laughing blue eyes, and those amazing legs flashed through his mind. He sometimes wondered if he had actually met the right one all those months ago, for one night in Dublin, and like an idiot, he had let her slip through his fingers.

By this point, they had reached the main living room of the flat. Sherlock walked straight in, but John and Brenna lingered on the threshold, curious to see what this first encounter of mother and son would be like. The first thing that John noticed, beyond the dark glasses and the cane which indicated Justine Holmes' blindness, was that she was short, very short. Both Sherlock and Mycroft seemed overly tall, but Justine was barely head height with John. Yet for all that, he could still feel that Holmes charisma practically radiating off of her.

Sherlock didn't actually acknowledge his mother with a customary greeting. In fact, he had shed his coat before either of them spoke and then it was Justine who started with, "Tell me, Sherlock, do you expect to get any results if you're boiling these perfume samples in water?"

Both John and Brenna looked at each other. Was this a customary greeting? Apparently, it was because Sherlock, without missing a beat, replied, "I'm trying to break down the chemical compounds."

"So, that's why it sounded like a factory of over sweetened candied fruit when I walked in. You only seem to have found five major scents though."

Sherlock went into the kitchen where his mother was standing. "I've been able to determine that the most popular perfumes are actually made up of five main compounds at different percentages. I was going to make them up tonight."

Justine actually finally turned to look at her son, and her smile was nothing short of intense, motherly affection. "Oh, my dear Sherlock, you always were the life of the party." She then reached up to kiss Sherlock's cheek, and said, "However, you may have to forgo that for awhile. I'm here; I might as well stay for dinner."

Both John and Brenna were perfectly shocked when they saw this exchange. They both were aware of the fact that Sherlock did not like being touched. Yet, not only had his mother just kissed him on the cheek, he seemed to take it with complete acceptance. He didn't seem to mind the affectionate gesture at all. It was the opposite of what they had come to expect with Sherlock.

When Justine turned her gaze in thir direction, she said, "Ah, Brenna, my dear, I'm so glad that I was able to see you on this latest visit. It saves me the trouble of having to send you Christmas present." She tapped her way over to the coffee table in the middle of the room with her cane, and picked up a medium sized, brightly wrapped box. "Here, I hope that you like fondue. Sherlock told meyou didn't havea suitable pot to make it in your kitchen, so I thought this would be a good addition."

Brenna gaped. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know I didn't, but I did anyway. Christmas is your favorite holiday, after all. I just wanted to welcome you to the family."

"Uh, thank you?" said Brenna, a bit uncertainly.

Lily had been trying skitter forward on her leash, eager to make a new acquintence of the stranger in the room. her tail was wagging furiously and her mouth was open in what could almost have been mistaken for a happy smile. "I hear that you must have brought Lily over." Said Justine, "It's all right, you can let her go. I would like to meet her as well."

Brenna, exchanging another surprised glance with John, bent down and let Lily off of her lead. Immediately, Lily trotted over to Justine, while she carefully knelt down and started petting her. "My, my, you are quite the affectionate one, aren't you?" She said, as Lily licked her hands, obviously thrilled at having found a new friend. She gave the beagle a final pat on the head, before rising to her feet and turning to John. "And you must be Dr. John Watson."

"Yes, hello, Mrs. Holmes."

"Please, Justine." She apprised John's which was shaking her own. "Well, you've certainly seen a great deal of active service, haven't you? You have a grip that could crush a rock, Dr. Watson. Yet, your fingers feel as though they have a certain delicacy and quickness to them. A necessary attribute for an army surgeon, especially one of your experience and rank."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You could have hardly gotten so far if you didn't have hands like these. Let me guess, Captain?"

John gaped at Justine. "How on earth…"

"John, take my advice, don't ask." Said Brenna.

"I must say, Dr. Watson, I am a tremendous fan of your blog." Said Justine, as she went to sit down on the couch. She made her way there relatively easily, despite the junk that was covering the floor. As she sat down, Lily sprang up and sniggled down beside her.

"Really? Well, you would be the first Holmes to think so."

"I find it to be quite entertaining. Not to mention informative Sherlock's activities."

"John's blog is filled with plot holes and romanticized adventure." Sherlock complained from his seat of his own laptop. "He seems to think our lives are some sort of adventure novel instead of a sane quest for knowledge."

Justine laughed. "For having such a low opinion of John's blog, my dear, you do direct people to it on your own website quite often. Why, some of the cases you don't even explain and simply let John do the talking."

"She has a point, Sherlock." Brenna pointed out.

Sherlock looked from his mother to Brenna, before rolling his eyes and burying his face in his computer screen. "Oh, fine. Go ahead, you win, I give up."

John looked at Sherlock, more than a little incredulous. "You're giving up? Just like that? Mr. Punchline? You who will outlive God trying to get in the last word?"

"I think it's only logical." Said Justine, glancing at Brenna, "I do believe Sherlock finds himself a little intimidated by us girls."

John actually smiled. He had never believed that he could be charmed by a Holmes on a first meeting, but Justine was certainly proving him wrong. "Did I hear you wanted to stay for dinner?"

"Yes, if you can make room for me."

"Well, I'm sure we can. But, it won't be anything fancy, I'm afraid. We were just going to call for a takeaway."

"Ah, that would be perfect."

John looked at her. "Really?"

"Dr. Watson, when you have been to as many formal dinners as I have been in my lifetime I can assure you, that a good honest English takeaway is the best thing in the world."

It was a surprisingly pleasant evening. Justine proved to be an astute and entertaining conversationalist, far more than either Sherlock or Mycroft. But what perhaps neither Brenna or John were aware, but Sherlock could see quite well, was that Justine was closely studying how the other two spoke, what words they used and how they used them, inflection and every other small thing that could be imagined in everyday human conversation. Sherlock knew that she was reading them just as well as he could and perhaps one better.

As the evening drew to a close, Justine said that she had to go as her driver would be waiting for her. She shook John warmly by the hand, and actually gave Brenna a hug (a move which surprised her), and only then did she turn to Sherlock. "Sherlock, do help your old, blind mother down the steps so that she doesn't fall and break her neck."

"Mother, you know what I am perfectly aware that you don't require my assistance. You would probably be able to handle those stairs better than most."

Justine sighed, as only a mother could. "Oh, Sherlock, must you be so very uncomprehending? I merely wanted to say my goodbyes to you alone."

"Oh, then why didn't you say so in the first place?"

The two of them went down the steps, and as they reached the bottom, Justine spoke, "I like them, you know."

"What?"

"Brenna and John. I must confess that I'm quite taken with Brenna, and John is quite charming. Who knows? If I was perhaps a few decades younger…"

For a brief second, Sherlock's mask dropped. A small, warm came to his face, and in his eyes, a soft light of affection shone. "Were that the case, neither Mycroft nor I would be alive. And I know that would be a burden to you, however hard it might be for you to believe."

"True enough." Said Justine, with a slight laugh, as Sherlock helped her on with her coat, displaying a level of tenderness that not many knew he had. "Still, I thought I should tell you that."

"That is why you came today, isn't it?"

"I'm merely looking out for your best concerns, my dear. You can't honestly tell me you're all that surprised by my actions."

"No, I suppose that I can't."

She caught Sherlock's arm and mother and son looked into each other's eyes. Justine's hand touched Sherlock's cheek, and when she spoke, her voice was infinitely tender. "I heard things tonight from you that I never thought to see again. You are happy, Sherlock, at last. Forgive me if I sound sentimental, but it's the best present I could ask for."

Sherlock didn't normally allow himself to be swayed by his emotions. His mother was one of the few he trusted to abandon all the masks he used to protect himself from the outside world. Justine was one of the few to see the insecurities that he still sometimes struggle with. Bending down, he gently kissed his mother's cheek, and said, in a soft voice, "Merry Christmas, Mummy."

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

Sherlock opened the door, and Justine made her way outside into the night, being met by her driver half way. Sherlock watched her until she drove away. It may have only lasted a few seconds, but the expression on his face would have been enough to make even the most unsympathetic person to Sherlock perhaps sense that there was a great deal more to the Consulting Detective than met the eye.

* * *

As Sherlock came back into the flat, he saw Brenna washing the dishes, and John clearing the remains of their take away. "She got off okay? Your mum?" John asked.

"Yes, of course." Said Sherlock, the aloofness back in his tone. "She didn't need my help, just as I suspected."

"I honestly don't think that your mother needs help from anyone." Said John.

"She's called the Battle Dragon by friend and foe alike for a reason." said Brenna, coming into the living room. "She actually had Mycroft's job before he did, by what she told."

"And I can tell you that what Mycroft needs Anthea's help for, my mother was more than able to make care of on our own." Said Sherlock, with a touch of pride.

"Really?" said John, who was incredibly impressed. "She was able to do all of that?"

Sherlock, who had been looking at his laptop, raised his eyes to stare at John. "Why should that be so strange?"

"It just that if she were able to do all that when she was blind…" He shook his head in obvious admiration. "Well, I don't know what to say to that."

At these words, Sherlock tensed. His eyes suddenly became deeply troubled, as though John's words had struck a deep chord, one that he probably tried to avoid as much as he could. "She wasn't blind."

Sherlock's voice had an edge of coldness to it that made both John and Brenna pause and look at him. "What do you mean, she wasn't blind?" John asked, slowly.

Sherlock flinched, as though he had just been struck sharply across the face. In his mind, a memory that he had tried to bury surged to surface: that memory was of a frightened young boy witnessing the violence that his father had meted out to his mother, and the bloody aftermath that had followed.

"My mother wasn't born blind." He spat out, his voice quiet but cold, "It was a final gift, from my father."

Instant silence settled over the room, as both John and Brenna looked first at Sherlock and then at each other in total shock. It was the first time that either of them had heard Sherlock give any sort of voluntary information about his past, and whatever they might have expected to hear on that subject first, it had not been anything even close to this.

Sherlock seemed to sense that the general demeanor of the room had changed drastically. He looked up, and it was clear that there was a struggle of many different emotions going on inside his head. It wasn't one that he wanted either Brenna or John to witness. "Excuse me." He rose stiffly to his feet and hurried to his room, shutting the door decisively behind him.

Brenna made to follow him, but John grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back. "Brenna, no. let him be. I think he needs some time to himself."

* * *

About an hour later, Sherlock, in his pajamas, was stretched out on his bed with his eyes closed. He wasn't asleep, he really even wasn't thinking, he was merely remembering. A tentative knock broke his reverie. "You can come in, Brenna." he said, without opening his eyes.

Hesitantly, the door opened and Brenna peeked in. "Hey, are you all right?"

"Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Even he wasn't convinced by his flat reply. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "Are you leaving?"

"I, um, well, no. I was actually thinking that I might stay here tonight. Since Lily is here anyway, I don't need to worry about walking her. If that's okay with you, I mean. If you want to be alone…"

Sherlock sighed deeply and gestured to his closet. "My shirts are in there, use one of them." The unspoken truth was that he was actually glad that she had asked. A part of him really hadn't wanted to be alone tonight.

He listened in silence as Brenna quickly shed her clothes, put on one of his shirts, and crawled into bed beside him. She didn't lie down immediately however, which prompted Sherlock to open his eyes and see that she was staring at him. "Sherlock, why? Why did you tell that to John and me?"

"Would you have preferred it if I hadn't?"

"No, no, it's not that. But you know that you didn't need to. Why did you do it now?"

Sherlock sat up. He hadn't seemed to consider the why of the question until that moment. "I don't know." He said, at last. "It just seemed right."

"Well, I'm glad you did." She kissed Sherlock gently on the lips. Sherlock returned it for a few seconds, before putting one hand behind her head, and drawing her closer to him, deepening the kiss. He took hold of her waist, lowering her onto the bed, deepening the kiss.

All this while, he continued to kiss her deeply, passionately. And yet it was not a prelude to lovemaking. It was a desperate need on Sherlock's part to feel a connection with another person, someone who truly cared for him. He could not express that need in words, but this would suffice.

At last, he broke the kiss, and looked down into her green eyes. He saw there such an expression of tenderness and understanding, it was almost enough to soothe his inner demons.

Brenna allowed Sherlock to pillow his head on her shoulder. His body instinctively sought her contact, spooning her until there was no space left between them. As she ran her fingers through his hair, she was gratified to feel Sherlock's breathing settle into a deep, regular pattern.

She considered how this damaged, brilliant man had come into her life. She knew how much she had been changed by Sherlock. Sometimes, it was a relief to know that she had made some sort of difference in him.

* * *

**We did get a little hint of the events of Sherlock's childhood in this chapter, and just what might have made him the way he is. There will be more exploration on that in my version of The Hounds of Baskerville. We still have a lot more to go in A Scandal in Belgravia. Please read and review.**

**Next chapter: Brenna receives an early Christmas present and this series gets another new character, when we meet Elizabeth Ryan. **


	18. Home for Christmas

**I want to thank everyone who has continued to read and/or favorite this story. It's wonderful knowing that people are liking my work. I hope you enjoy this next chapter, where we a meet anew character and John's future love interest. **

Home for Christmas:

The days of the holiday season passed by quickly after this. Soon, it was a mere week before Christmas, and the spirit of hope and good will had reached a fever pitch. Sherlock, true to form, scratched and clawed, fought and complained every step of the way. Luckily, neither Brenna nor John paid the slightest bit of attention to him. When Sherlock found out that the two of them were planning a Christmas party at 221B, his protests fell on deaf ears. Whether he liked it or not, Sherlock was going to be celebrating Christmas in full swing. He could only hope that it would pass quickly.

He and Brenna were heading home from the Yard that night and when they were about a block from her flat, Sherlock started angling for an invite to snare some of Brenna's hot chocolate (which he was becoming particularly attached to), and the possibility of sharing a little lovemaking in front of the fireplace (something which she had introduced him to only a few nights before, and an intimacy he was looking forward to repeating), but she firmly, if gently, rebuffed him.

"Not tonight, Sherlock. I have thing to take care of."

"What things?" asked Sherlock, more than a little miffed that she had business which she deemed to be more interesting than him.

"It's a week before Christmas, Sherlock. What do you think I'm doing?" At his clueless expression, she relented and said, "I need to wrap your presents, and John's, and those of a few others."

Sherlock stared at her. "You bought me presents?'

"Yes, of course. Why? Didn't you get me presents?"

"Well, yes. I'm not so ignorant of the traditions of the season. And John told me it would be a sure death sentence from you if I didn't get you anything."

"Oh, my first real Christmas present from you. I can't wait to see what you thought of."

"Don't worry, it's useful."

"Like vacuum sweeper bags?"

Sherlock, true to form, completely missed the reference. "You don't own a vacuum cleaner. All of your floors are wood. Why would I get you vacuum sweeper bags?'

Brenna found herself laughing, and was about to reply, when she suddenly stopped outside of the flat. "Do you hear that?" She asked.

"Flute music." said Sherlock, hearing the music that was carried on the night wind. "Coming from your flat. Did you leave the stereo running?"

"No, I'm sure I didn't. I don't know what…" All at once, her eyes grew wide and an enormous grin spread across her face. "Unless… Lizzy!"

She hurried up the steps. Sherlock, who had no idea what was going on, followed close behind her. He saw Brenna opening the door to her flat, and then her excited exclamation only a few seconds before. "Lizzy!" This was followed by an ear-piercing squeal of delight.

Sherlock came into the flat just in time to see Brenna hugging a woman with blond hair and blue eyes, who appeared to be only a few years older than herself. Sherlock would have been easily able to deduce that she was Brenna's older sister even without having seen a picture of her. It was obvious that Brenna and Elizabeth shared the same facial structure, the same freckles across the nose and cheeks, and shared a similar taste in fashion choices. There was also a flute on the piano, which he assumed Elizabeth had been playing before they had come in.

Sherlock observed all this in the few minutes that the two of them were involved in the traditional greeting of sisters. He suddenly felt the odd man out and completely forgotten; he certainly hoped this wouldn't be a repeated experience.

"Lizzy, I'm so glad to see you. I wasn't expecting you in until the new year."

Elizabeth laughed. "I managed to trade in a few favors, and got here early."

"Why didn't you call?"

"I wanted to surprise you, Ren. I figured I would get the best Christmas present out of the way first and foremost."

"Well, you did. I can't believe you're here. I'm so glad to see you."

Here followed a few more seconds of gleeful squealing and hugging. Sherlock might have been positively sickened by this overwhelming display of sentimentality. However, he actually found himself rather curious. This was the first time that he had ever encountered a member of Brenna's family who didn't treat her with hostility or suspicion.

When the two sisters had finally finished their greeting, Elizabeth turned to Sherlock. "That's him, isn't it?" She said.

"Yes, for better or worse. Sherlock, this is my sister, Elizabeth."

"Brenna has told me so much about you." said Elizabeth, as they shook hands.

"Has she?" Sherlock asked, looking at Brenna with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I hear quite a lot about you, on good days and bad days. I'm looking forward to getting to know you in person so that I'll have a balanced judgment."

"Well, I can see that you two will obviously have a lot to talk about." Said Sherlock, "I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks, Sherlock." said Brenna, kissing him on the cheek.

"Oh, by the way," said Sherlock, "We're having a little Christmas party as Baker St. won't be anything fancy, just a few of our closest friends. I hope you'll be joining us."

Brenna's mouth dropped open, and she stared at Sherlock in complete surprise. The invitation had been extended with perfect grace and cordiality, when Brenna had known that Sherlock had been against anyone coming to the Christmas party.

"Really?" said Elizabeth, who didn't see her sister's shocked look. "You think you could find room for me?"

"Of course, the more the merrier." Sherlock almost sounded like he meant it. "Mrs. Hudson I'm sure will be able to feed one more mouth. She's cooked more than enough as it is."

"Will I be able to meet John?" Neither Sherlock nor Brenna really thought that there could be another hidden motive to this question. They did not know that Elizabeth still had thoughts of the handsome army doctor, and had been hoping that he might try and call her now that she was back in London. And if her suspicions about John were correct, well, she couldn't stop her heart fluttering at the idea.

"Of course, Jon will be there." Said Sherlock, "You'll have to put up with him, I'm afraid. But, seeing as you will be staying in London on a permanent, you might want to expand your circle of friends."

Both women stared at him. Brenna glanced at Elizabeth with wide eyes. "Wait, staying in London on a more permanent basis?"

"How did you know that?" asked Elizabeth.

"Quite simple really. The amount of luggage which you've brought with you indicates that your most likely hear for something longer than an extended visit of only a few weeks. I'd say, judging from the shape, that they have more than just clothes, most likely some other form of permanent belongings. The flute, of course, which you've been playing just now, an instrument that you love but which has no real place onboard the cramped quarters of a Navy ship, where space is of the essence. You stopped by storage on your way here so that you could take it with you right away. Hence, you must be staying here in London permanently."

"I can see that Brenna hasn't been exaggerating when she said you were brilliant." Elizabeth said, after a moment of speechless shock that always accompanied such deductions for the first time.

"Why should I need to exaggerate something like that?" asked Brenna, "And why didn't you tell me you were staying her in London?"

"I was hoping to tell you that myself, when we were alone." She turned to Sherlock with a gracious smile. "But, in answer to your invitation, I would love to come."

Sherlock returned the smile. "It's settled than. I'll leave you two to catch up. Lovely to have met you, Elizabeth. Good night, Brenna. See you tomorrow." He kissed Brenna's cheek and headed for the door.

Brenna followed him to the door, and when Sherlock was outside on the steps, she said, "Sherlock, what was all that about? John tells me he had to practically twist your arm to invite Lestrade and Molly. But you invite a total stranger you've just met without so much as batting and eye?"

"She's your sister, isn't she?" Sherlock said, as though it should have been the most natural thing in the world. "I also know she's the only family that you still feel some sense of connection to. As far as I understand it, Christmas is a time for family. I don't necessarily see the attraction, but than I don't want to impart my views on you entirely."

Brenna could see what Sherlock was trying to say. He had invited Elizabeth just so he could make her happy. She smiled and kissed him. "Thank you, Sherlock. You don't know what this means to me."

"Perhaps not, but I can try."

Elizabeth was waiting for her when she came back inside. "So, that's your Sherlock." she said, as her sister sat down on the couch opposite her. "I applaud your taste. He's gorgeous. Where did he get those cheekbones?"

"Mother, actually."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "You met his mother?"

"Yes, she actually is pleasant. I think she likes me."

"Good. I would hate for you to earn the enmity of one of Sherlock's relatives. Especially from what you've told me."

"You caught him on a good night. Believe me, he can be an impossible handful."

"I don't doubt it."

"And now, about you staying here in London?"

"That's the second part of my Christmas present actually. The first was coming home early, and the second is that I'm going to be staying. I'm being transferred to work here in London. The Royal Navy had offered me a position in their cyber-terrorism department in their headquarters. You can naturally assume that I jumped at the opportunity."

"Oh, Lizzy," said Brenna, as she gave her sister a big hug. "I can't believe it. You'll be here with me. That's wonderful."

"I knew you would be thrilled. Of course, I do have the problem of knowing where I should be staying. If only I could find someone who would be willing to put up with me and all my weird habits."

Brenna laughed. "Oh, you impossible… Of course, you have to stay here. This flat is more than big enough for the two of us. Shane won't have any problem agreeing."

"I guess it's settled than, isn't it? And don't worry, if you and Sherlock want some private time, I can be very discrete."

Brenna laughed. "I'll be sure to hold you to that, Elizabeth. And it's all decided within five minutes. I'm glad to see that we fall into our old rhythms so easy. Oh Lizzie, I think that this is going to be the best Christmas that I have had in a long time."

**I really can't help writing Sherlock being sweet sometimes, especially with the holidays being only a few weeks away (well, Thanksgiving anyway, though I did see my first Christmas commercial I late October). Anyway, please read and review. **

**Next chapter: The infamous Christmas party at 221B, with a few major changes. With the introduction of Elizabeth into the mix, and no Irene Adler to mess things up, just how will things turn out differently?**


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